And having said these things, he went on before, going up to Jerusalem.
The parable of the pounds has just ended, with its warning that His own citizens would not have Him reign over them. Now the Lord sets out at the head of the group, on the road that climbs to Jerusalem.
He went in front. One writer ties this to His call for followers to take up the cross:
If the Lord was going to make those who followed Him take up the cross, He could not but bear it Himself. He went before His sheep in this path of self-denial and devotion, to prepare the way. He went alone. It was a path His people had not yet walked, nor could they, until He had walked it first.
"Going up" is not a figure of speech here. One writer measures the road out of Jericho:
The journey now started again, and the Lord led the way, going ahead and going up to Jerusalem. They had about seventeen miles to travel. After leaving the fertile region around Jericho, the road ran through desolate country. It climbed from the Jordan valley up to the neighbourhood of the capital. Jericho lies 820 feet below sea level, and Jerusalem 2,593 feet above it.
One commentator reads the unhurried pace as mercy, not delay:
In Luke's Gospel His gradual approach to the city is traced more clearly than in either Matthew or Mark. See Luke 9:51; 13:22, 33; 17:11; 18:31; 19:1, 11, 28. He seems to linger from stage to stage. He is not willing to hasten the doom of the nation, because what was to happen to Him there was to fill up their sin and leave them for judgment. He was waiting to be gracious. It is the same now, in this age: the patience of God in not sending Jesus is salvation, since He is not willing that any should perish.
The verse points back: He said these things first, then He went. What He had just said shapes what the journey means:
Next follows the approach to Jerusalem. He is the Messiah indeed, but Son of Man. He presents Himself according to the prophecies that had gone before, even when they are not quoted word for word. And He does so right after the parable had taught in full that the opposition to Him was deliberate, wilful and final. For it was not only that His citizens, the Jews, despised Him, though He came in humiliation for the deepest purposes of divine love. They hated Him, and sent a message after Him, saying, "We do not want this man to reign over us."
Why go up at all, when the refusal was already settled? One writer answers:
The King of Israel was presenting Himself to Jerusalem as her King. He had never done that before, though He was born King of the Jews. It is true that His rejection and death were close at hand, but Jerusalem had to reject Him as her King. So on this occasion He presented Himself as King.
The climb does not end in gloom. One writer sets this ascent beside the ascent of Solomon:
As He continued His "going up to Jerusalem," the crowd of disciples look ahead to the triumph of the coming day. They praise Him, saying, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" (v. 38)… The ascent of Solomon so astonished the queen of Sheba that "there was no more spirit in her." In the same way, the ascent of the Son of God filled His disciples with praise to God.
On the road up, He sends His disciples for a colt. One writer draws a lesson for service from that errand:
Luke tells us that the colt was the one the Lord had need of. He tells the disciples to go and untie it, and more than that, to bring it to Jesus. That is a word which older believers, and all who seek to serve the Lord, should take to heart. Can we, under the command of the Lord, bring in a ministry that sets affections free for His service?
- Ahead. He does not send His followers up the road; He goes in front, on a path no one had walked before Him.
- Upward. The road from Jericho to Jerusalem climbs over three thousand feet. The ascent ends at the place of His rejection.
- Slowly. Luke traces the journey stage by stage; the unhurried pace is patience, not hesitation.
- As King. He goes up right after the warning that His citizens would refuse Him. He still offers Himself to the city as her King.
- With praise. The same ascent fills the crowd of disciples with worship, and sets a colt free for His use.
And it came to pass as he drew near to Bethphage and Bethany at the mountain called [the mount] of Olives, he sent two of his disciples,
The road up from Jericho ends at two small villages on a hillside outside Jerusalem. There Jesus stops and sends two men ahead on an errand. The place, the messengers, the borrowed animal — every detail serves one act. The King is about to present Himself to His city.
The teaching about the kingdom has just ended. What comes next is its outcome, not a new subject.
He had declared what the kingdom was — what it would be. He now comes to present it for the last time in His own Person to the people of Jerusalem, according to the prophecy of Zechariah. All is gathered round His entrance. Jerusalem is in the day of her visitation, and she does not know it.
Luke names Bethphage and Bethany. One writer finds the meaning of each name fitting the moment.
Now He moves toward that end on purpose, though the way there meant rejection and death. He came near Bethphage, which means "the house of unripe figs." That pictures Israel being unready to receive Him. He came near Bethany, which means "the house of affliction." That pictures how His own people treated Him. Then He sent two of His disciples to a nearby village.
Commentators give Bethany's name a second meaning. It was also a house where He was welcome:
The "house of dates," a village on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, about two miles from Jerusalem, near the road to Jericho. It was where Lazarus, Martha, and Mary lived, in whose house the Lord found a resting place, among those whom He loved, and who were always ready to welcome Him.
Luke names the hill. The same hill appears at four turning points in His story.
From the same place He had entered Jerusalem as their King, according to this prophet (Zech. 9:9), riding on a donkey's colt. On that same Mount of Olives He sat in Matthew 24, surrounded by His Jewish disciples… From that same mountain He went up to heaven (Acts 1), after His nation had rejected Him and crucified Him. And on that same mountain His feet will stand when He returns to deliver them fully and completely in grace!
What He tells them to do is itself a claim. He describes an animal He has not seen, in a village He has not entered. He also tells them what to say if anyone stops them.
The sending for the colt shows the Lord as Jehovah, who has a perfect right to all. "The Lord has need of them." What could be more complete than His knowledge of circumstances hidden in the future? How clear His control over the owner's mind and feelings! He was meek, sitting on a donkey, the King of Zion the prophet spoke of. Yet He was as surely Jehovah as He was the Messiah coming in His name.
Who did the owners hear in that title, "the Lord"? Writing on Mark's account of the same errand, Kelly leaves the question open:
I suspect "the Lord" is here left purposely vague. The Lord had need of the donkey's colt, whether they took the title to mean Jehovah or the king who came in His name. If their faith did recognise the Messiah in Jehovah, that was entirely true, and so much the better for those who did.
The instructions were exact. So was their fulfilment. That precision is the point.
Old and modern writers work hard to find in this remarkable incident a picture of the Gentiles obeying the gospel. That does not seem intelligent to me. It was simply the evidence of His divine knowledge. It was His claim, made among the Jews, to be Jehovah Messiah. Facts proved that claim, and so did the submission of human hearts, where God was pleased to produce it for the honour of His Son. That is why the Spirit records so exactly the words that passed and the fulfilment of all He said.
- Approach — He had taught what the kingdom is. Now He goes to Jerusalem to present it in His own Person for the last time.
- Place — One writer reads the two village names as a picture of what waited for Him. Bethphage, "house of unripe figs," is a nation unready. Bethany, "house of affliction," is His own people treating Him badly.
- Shelter — Bethany was the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary. There He found a resting place among people glad to welcome Him.
- Mount — Olivet ties the whole story together: He entered from it, taught on it, ascended from it, and will return to it.
- Claim — He sent two disciples for a colt He had never seen, and He knew someone would stop them. He knows what is hidden, and He owns all things.
saying, Go into the village over against [you], in which ye will find, on entering it, a colt tied up, on which no [child] of man ever sat at any time loose it and lead it [here].
Jerusalem is now in sight, and the Lord arranges His entry Himself. He sends His disciples ahead for a colt He has never seen, which raises the question the whole scene turns on: who is this, that He can claim an animal as His own?
Why record such small directions at all? One writer finds the answer in what the detail proves.
It was very simply the evidence of His divine knowledge, and the assertion among the Jews of His claim as Jehovah Messiah. Facts proved that claim, and so did the submission of human hearts, where God was pleased to produce it to the honour of His Son. That is why the Spirit notes in fine detail the words that passed and the carrying out of all He said.
The disciples are not sent to ask a favour. They carry a claim, and one writer roots it in the Creator's ownership of every living thing.
This act of the Lord flashes out once more His glory, and shows that the King-Messiah is Jehovah. He knew that a donkey was tied there with a colt, just as He knew about the fish with the coin in the sea. He commanded that fish to come to Peter's hook. Here He demands the use of the donkey and colt. He has a right to them, for He is the Creator. He can say what He has said: "For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the hills, and all that moves in the field is mine" (Ps. 50:10, 11).
Because the claim is His alone, the same act done by anyone else would be a crime.
Only the Lord could give such instructions, for all things are His property. For anyone else to do this would be stealing. The owners questioned the disciples at first. But no difficulty arose: the words "the Lord has need of him" settled the matter even for them.
The disciples were given an answer to use if anyone objected, and that answer was enough. What moved the owners was not the words but the One behind them.
So He knew and directed a heart far away. He showed how David's Lord had a good claim to be David's Son — indeed to be received as such by the title of His own Person and glory. He who did these things by this divine power and ordering was claiming the place of David's Son, in grace and with no needless untruth. All was already subject to Him, whatever He might subject Himself to. This reached several hearts, whoever they were. It was not merely knowledge of the owner, but control of their hearts.
This colt had never carried a rider. One writer draws out the lesson Israel should have taken from that.
Another significant fact here is that it was the colt of a donkey. He rode a young animal, unbroken, as Luke 19:30 proves. Though no one had ridden it before, it was fully submissive to the Lord Jesus. Israel should have learned from this that they too should submit to the authority of the lowly Son of Man.
The choice of animal said something about His kingship. It also matched Israel's own history.
We learn that in the purest days of Jewish government the leading men in Israel used no animals but donkeys (Judges 5:10; 10:4; 12:14). Horses only came in during the corrupt times of Solomon. So when the Lord took up the style of "King of Israel," He of course took every feature, however small, that belonged to the only pure and true form of that character. That is why He orders His disciples to bring a donkey's colt to Him. Besides, this was the Messiah showing Himself as King, just as the prophet had presented Him beforehand (Zech. 9:9). His being "meek and lowly" was as kingly a feature as any other.
The colt was tied because it was untrained; it was untied so that He could ride it. Commentators differ on how far to press this. Kelly, quoted above, thinks attempts to read a picture into the incident miss the plain force of it, while others find a lesson in the sequence.
The colt was unbroken, for no one had sat on it, and so it was tied up under restraint. It was loosed from restraint, but only so that He might sit on it. Under His powerful hand it was perfectly restrained. This is a picture of how grace sets us free from the bondage of the law.
- Knowledge. He describes a village and a colt He has not seen. That knowledge is divine, and it backs His claim as Jehovah Messiah.
- Ownership. He asks no permission because every beast of the forest is already His; the same act by anyone else would be theft.
- Control. His power reached the owners' hearts, not just the facts about the colt. They gave the animal up at a word.
- Submission. An animal no one had ridden carried Him without a struggle. Israel should have learned to submit to the lowly Son of Man in the same way.
- Lowliness. He chose the animal Israel's leaders used in its purest days, not a horse. Meekness is as kingly a feature as any other.
And if any one ask you, Why do ye loose [it]? thus shall ye say to him, Because the Lord has need of it.
Jesus sends two disciples to untie a young donkey that is not theirs, and gives them one sentence to say if anyone stops them. Everything rests on that sentence: on who this "Lord" is, and on how He can need a borrowed animal.
The disciples do not bargain or explain. They state a claim, and that claim rests on who owns every living thing.
He demands the use of the donkey and its colt. He has a right to them, because He is the Creator, and He can say what He has already said: "For every beast of the forest is mine, the cattle on a thousand hills. I know all the birds of the hills, and all that moves in the field is mine" (Psalm 50:10-11)... These men either owned the colt or had charge of it. No doubt the majestic "The Lord has need of them" made a deep impression on their hearts. So they were at once ready to let them go. His word demanded obedience, and they obeyed.
Luke tells us who let the animal go. Their quick surrender suggests they already knew the One making the claim.
Luke is the only one of the four Gospel writers who certainly was not an eyewitness. From his account we gather that the owners of the animals allowed the disciples to take the foal. "The Lord has need of him" was enough. Surely they were disciples of the Master. Probably so was the owner of the upper room where they ate the last Passover. The owners acknowledged the Lord's claim at once, and the two disciples led off the foal without further discussion.
Jesus knew the owner's answer in advance. That knowledge came with power over the man's will.
They were to say simply, "The Lord has need of it"... So He knew and ordered the heart at a distance. He showed how David's Lord had a good claim to be David's Son... He did these things by divine power, and so He was surely claiming the place of David's Son, in grace and with no needless untruth. Everything was already subject to Him, whatever He might subject Himself to. This power was over several hearts, whoever they were. It was not merely knowledge of the owner, but control of their hearts.
One sentence settled every question that day. Writers see in that willingness a small picture of a day still ahead.
Coming as the King, He acts with kingly authority. Someone might ask why the disciples were untying the colt. The answer "that the Lord has need of him" would be enough, and straight away every question would cease. So it came to pass. And so it will be in the coming day of glory. Then it will be true of Zion: "Your people will offer themselves freely on the day of your power" (Psalm 110:3).
The One who owns everything asks for the loan of a donkey. The word "need" sits oddly beside the glory of the One who says it.
Sending for the colt shows the Lord as Jehovah, who has a perfect right to everything. "The Lord has need of them." What could be more complete than His knowledge of circumstances still hidden in the future? How clear His control over the owner's mind and feeling! He was meek, sitting on a donkey, the King of Zion that the prophet spoke of. Yet He was as surely Jehovah as He was Messiah coming in His name. The "need of them" is as amazing as the glory of His person.
The errand had two halves: untie the colt, and bring it to Jesus. Both halves shape service today.
Luke tells us that the colt was the one the Lord had need of. The Lord instructs the disciples to go and untie it, and more than that, to bring it to Jesus. That is a word that older believers and those who seek to serve the Lord should take to heart. Under the Lord's command, are we able to bring in a ministry that sets affections free for His service?... The Lord Himself has gone from the scene, but His name and His interests are here. We should want everything we do and say to free affections and attach them in loyalty to an absent Christ.
- Right — He asks for another man's colt because, as Creator, every beast and all the cattle already belong to Him.
- Word — the disciples carried no argument, only one sentence, and that word won obedience.
- Heart — He did more than know where the animal stood; He had control over the owners' hearts at a distance.
- Day — their quick willingness previews the promised day when His people offer themselves freely.
- You — the disciples untied the colt only to bring it to Jesus, and service still means setting affections free for Him.
And they that were sent, having gone their way, found as he had said to them.
Jesus sent two disciples ahead for a colt they had never seen, and gave them one sentence to say if anyone stopped them. This verse reports what they found, and what that proves about the One who sent them.
The weight of the verse falls on the match between what He said and what they found. One commentator warns against turning the scene into a picture of something else:
Ancient and modern writers have worked hard to find in this remarkable incident a picture of the Gentiles obeying the gospel, as the Lord received and rode on the colt. That effort seems to me far from intelligent. Instead, it was very simply the evidence of His divine knowledge. It was His claim among the Jews to be Jehovah Messiah. Facts verified that claim, and so did the proved submission of human hearts where God was pleased to produce it, to the honour of His Son. So the Spirit records every word that passed, and how everything He said came true.
Nobody suggested this to Him. The arrangement came from His side, down to the words the disciples were to use:
The disciples had not prepared the colt, nor asked the Lord to mount it. The Lord took the initiative by sending two of His disciples to the entrance of Bethphage to get it. The foal was there, tied, as Mark tells us, at a door outside in the open street. He told them where to find it, what to do, and what to say to the owners. Zechariah had foretold that the foal would be available for the King's use. The Lord made known where it was actually standing at that moment. It was there ready to bring in the King, according to prophecy.
He told the disciples to take an animal that belonged to someone else, and to explain it with one short sentence about the Lord's need:
Only the Lord could give such instructions, for all things are His property; for anyone else to do this would be stealing. No difficulty arose, for the words, "the Lord has need of it" settled the matter even for the owners, who at first questioned the disciples.
The disciples found the colt because He knew where it was. The owners let it go without a fight. One writer links this to a day still to come:
Jesus still acts on His supreme and holy Lordship. He knows all things, directs all things, and has all things at His command — including the wills of men. For His people shall be willing in the day of His power. This was a brief demonstration of what He was and of His rights. "The Lord has need of it."
The animal they untied had never carried anyone. Yet it gave the Lord no trouble at all:
He rode a young animal, unbroken, as Luke 19:30 proves. Despite never having been ridden before, it was fully submissive to the Lord Jesus. Israel ought to have learned from this, that they too should submit to the authority of the lowly Son of Man.
Commentators differ over how far to press this. Kelly, quoted above, rejected reading the incident as a picture of the Gentiles coming to the gospel. He took it as plain evidence of divine knowledge and of Christ's claim to be the Messiah.
The errand also says something about the two who ran it:
When the Lord sent two disciples to bring the colt, they were to say certain things. When questioned they said exactly those words, adding nothing and taking nothing away, and they completed the service successfully.
- Word. What He said and what they found matched exactly. Facts verified His divine knowledge, so the Spirit notes every detail.
- Right. Their one sentence rested on ownership. Anyone else sending men to take another man's animal would be stealing.
- Power. He knew where the colt stood, and He moved the owners to release it. It was a small sample of the day when His people will be willing.
- Submission. The unbroken colt carried Him without resistance. Israel should have learned to submit to the lowly Son of Man.
- Obedience. The two disciples spoke only the words He gave them, and the errand succeeded.
And as they were loosing the colt, its masters said to them, Why loose ye the colt?
Two disciples are untying an animal that is not theirs. The owners walk up and ask the obvious question. They answer with one short sentence. Everything turns on whether that sentence outranks a legal title deed.
The instruction given to the disciples would be criminal on any other lips. One writer notes that the whole errand rests on who is sending them:
Only the Lord could give such instructions, because all things are His property. For anyone else to do this would be stealing. No difficulty arose, because the words "the Lord has need of him" settled the matter even for the owners, who questioned the disciples at first.
The same claim runs through His life. One commentator lists moments when He took up glories that belonged to the God of Israel:
He healed leprosy, the well-known special honour of God (2 Kings 5:7). He put away all sicknesses, as Jehovah-rophi, the ancient Healer of Israel (Ex. 15:26). He fed the crowds in the wilderness again. He stilled the waves, as though He could once more divide the Jordan and the Red Sea. He made the fish bring Him tribute money, just as here He claims the donkey — treating the earth and everything in it as His own.
The disciples' reply names Him only as "the Lord." Commentators differ on how much the owners understood by that title:
The Lord had need of the donkey's colt, whether they applied the title to Jehovah or to the king who came in His name. If their faith truly recognised the Messiah in Jehovah, that was perfectly true, and so much the better for those who did. But I am not sure anyone can claim that the Spirit meant to imply that much.
Something more than a good argument moved these owners. One writer sees more than knowledge at work here:
So He knew and directed a heart far away, showing how David's Lord had a good claim to be David's Son... Everything was already subject to Him, whatever He might subject Himself to. This power reached several hearts, whoever they were, so it was not just knowledge of the owner, but control of their hearts.
Some read the owners' quick consent as a sign that they already belonged to Him. One writer links them with another unnamed host in the same closing week:
From Luke's account we gather that it was the owners of the animals who allowed the disciples to take the foal. "The Lord has need of him" was enough. They were surely disciples of the Master, probably like the owner of the upper room where the last Passover was eaten.
This was not a seizure. Mark's fuller wording adds a promise:
The owners saw the disciples untying the colt and asked why. They answered as the Master had told them: "The Lord has need of him, and He will send him back here at once." That is how Mark seems to have written it (11:3), hinting that the Master needed it for a short time, and would give it back when He was done with it.
Being untied did not leave the colt free to do as it pleased. One commentator reads the episode as a picture:
The colt was unbroken, for no one had ever sat on it, and so it was tied up and held in. It was set loose from that restraint, but only so that He could sit on it. Under His powerful hand it was held in completely. This is a picture of how grace sets us free from the bondage of the law.
These owners hand over a working animal at a moment's notice, with no explanation. One writer treats that as the normal call on anyone who owns anything:
We are so quick to think of things as ours. We should remember instead that all we have and all we are belongs to the Lord, and we should always give it up when He calls. This is not just a matter of rightful obedience; it is for our lasting good and happiness.
- His by right. For anyone else, taking another man's colt would be theft. It is lawful here because all things are already His.
- His by title. The reply names Him only as "the Lord." The owners may have heard Jehovah, or the King coming in His name.
- His over hearts. He did more than know the owners' minds. He held their wills, so their question stopped the moment they heard His name.
- His for a purpose. They untie the colt only so that He can sit on it, and Mark adds that He will send it back — a loan, not a loss.
- His at His call. He asks of every owner what He asked of these owners: hold everything as His, and give it up when He calls.
And they said, Because the Lord has need of it.
Two disciples are untying an animal that is not theirs, and its owners are standing right there asking why. Their whole answer is one short sentence Jesus gave them before they left.
On anyone else's lips, the instruction to take a tied-up colt would have been theft.
Only the Lord could give such instructions, for all things are His property; for another to do this would be stealing. There was no difficulty. The words, "the Lord has need of it," settled the matter even for the owners, who questioned the disciples at first.
The title is the point. "Lord" here stands for Jehovah, the covenant name of God, and this is the God who owns everything saying He has need of a donkey.
The sending for the colt shows the Lord as Jehovah, who has a perfect right to all. "The Lord (Jehovah) has need of them." What could be more thorough than His knowledge of circumstances hidden in the future? How clear His control over the owner's mind and feeling! He was meek, sitting on a donkey, the King of Zion that the prophet spoke of. Yet He was as surely Jehovah as He was the Messiah coming in His name. The "need of them" is as amazing as the glory of His person.
One writer sets this beside other moments when He acted as the earth's true Owner:
He claims the donkey from its owner, because He could say of Himself, "The Lord has need of it." It is very striking that through His life and ministry, though He was the rejected man from Galilee the whole time, there was no form of the ancient glory that He did not take up. He made the fish bring Him tribute, and here He claims the donkey, treating the earth and everything in it as all His own.
He knew what the owners would say before they said it, and more than one heart was involved.
He knew and directed a heart far away, showing that David's Lord had good claim to be David's Son. All was already subject to Him, whatever He might subject Himself to. This was over several hearts, whoever they were. So it was not only knowledge of the owner, but control of their hearts.
Luke's account tells us who let the colt go, and how fast they agreed.
From Luke's account we gather that it was the owners of the animals who let the disciples take the foal. "The Lord has need of it," was enough. They were surely disciples of the Master, probably along with the owner of the upper room where the last Passover was eaten. The Lord's claim was accepted at once, and the two disciples led the foal away with no further discussion.
Prophecy had already spoken about this colt, and Mark's record adds a few more words to the answer.
Zechariah had foretold that the foal would be there for the King's use. The Lord made known where it was standing at that moment. The owners saw the disciples untying the colt, and asked the reason. They answered as the Master had directed: "The Lord has need of it, and He will send it back here at once." So it seems Mark wrote (11:3). He means that the Master needed it for a short time, and would give it back when He had finished with it.
Commentators differ on whether the colt carries a symbolic meaning. Some read the untying of an unbroken animal as a picture of what grace does with a life:
The colt was unbroken, for no man had sat on it, and so it was tied up under restraint. It was loosed from restraint, but only so that He might sit on it. Under His powerful hand it was perfectly controlled. This is a picture of how grace sets us free from the bondage of the law.
Another writer holds that the point is plainer:
It was very simply the evidence of His divine knowledge. It was His claim, asserted among the Jews, to be Jehovah Messiah. Facts proved that claim, and so did the submission of human hearts, where God was pleased to produce it for the honour of His Son. That is why the Spirit records the words that passed, and the fulfilment of everything He said, so exactly.
- The claim. He treats the earth and everything in it as His own. What would be theft for anyone else is the Owner sending for His property.
- The word. One sentence — "The Lord has need of it" — was enough, and the owners let the colt go.
- The hearts. He knew where the colt stood and how its owners would react. That is not just knowledge of the owner, but control of their hearts.
- The wonder. That the One who owns everything should have need of anything is as astonishing as the glory of His person.
- The return. Mark adds that He would send it straight back. He borrows what He has every right to take.
And they led it to Jesus; and having cast their own garments on the colt, they put Jesus on [it].
The two disciples have done what they were told, and the owners have let the animal go. Now the colt stands in front of Jesus. The men who fetched it turn their own clothes into a saddle, and He rides into Jerusalem as King.
Writers have long asked whether the animal stands for something. One writer sets aside that reading and points to what the incident proves about Jesus:
Ancient and modern writers have worked hard to find in this remarkable incident a picture of the Gentiles obeying the gospel, since the Lord received and rode on the colt. That effort seems to me far from intelligent. It was very simply the evidence of His divine knowledge. It was His claim among the Jews to be Jehovah Messiah, asserted openly. Facts verified that claim, and so did the proved submission of human hearts, where God was pleased to produce it for the honour of His Son. That is why the Spirit records so carefully the words that passed and the fulfilment of all He said.
Others do read the scene as a picture. One writer ties the fulfilled prophecy to the unbroken colt, and sees in it bondage broken by grace:
The Lord led His disciples up toward Jerusalem, and He sent for the donkey's colt on which He rode into the city, just as Zechariah had prophesied. The colt was unbroken, for no man had sat on it, and so it was tied up under restraint. It was loosed from that restraint, but only so that He might sit on it. Under His powerful hand it was perfectly controlled. This is a parable of how grace sets us free from the bondage of the law.
The disciples took an animal that was not theirs, and the owners let them. That is only defensible if the one who sent them owns everything:
Only the Lord could give such instructions, for all things are His property. For anyone else to do this would be stealing. No difficulty came up. The words "The Lord has need of it" settled the matter even for the owners, who questioned the disciples at first.
The word for what the disciples did with their cloaks is a strong one. It appears again in a call to hand our worries to God:
"Casting (or, having cast) all your care — every anxiety — on Him." The word "casting" is a strong word. It really means "to fling," to part company with something completely. It is used that way in Luke 19:35, where the people cast their garments on the colt, letting them completely go!
One writer reads the clothing and the choice of animal together:
The people put their clothing on the animal for the Lord to ride on. Others spread their garments on the ground in the way, for the donkey to walk on. This symbolized the submission of the people to this blessed though lowly Messiah of Israel. He did not ride on a war horse, as He will when He comes in judgment (Revelation 19:11). He rode a lowly donkey's colt, for He was presented in grace, offering peace if peace would be received.
The disciples and the crowd were not acting on their own enthusiasm:
The same divine power was controlling the hearts of the disciples and the multitude. That power gave this testimony to the royalty of Jesus, and it fulfilled the words of the prophet. They threw their cloaks on it, and He sat on it. A new position for the lowly Jesus — yet lovely even in this.
Matthew mentions both the colt and its mother; Luke keeps the colt alone. One writer takes that difference as deliberate:
The colt here is seen alone, and not, as in Matthew, in company with its mother. It is grace entirely, not government. The King enters amid the applause of His people. When the Pharisees try to silence the disciples in their praise, He replies that the stones would cry out if the disciples kept quiet.
- Claim. Bringing the colt to Jesus showed His divine knowledge. It asserted His claim among the Jews as Jehovah Messiah, proved by facts and by hearts God made willing.
- Ownership. "The Lord has need of it" settled the question for the owners. All things are His property; from anyone else the same act would have been theft.
- Release. The colt was unbroken and tied. It was loosed only so that He might sit on it, and under His hand it went perfectly. That is a parable of grace freeing us from the bondage of the law.
- Surrender. The word for casting the garments means to fling, to let go completely — the same word used for casting every anxiety on Him.
- Grace. He rode a donkey's colt, not the war horse of judgment. Luke's account keeps the colt alone: grace entirely, not government.
And as he went, they strewed their clothes in the way.
Jesus rides toward Jerusalem on a donkey's colt. The crowd turns the road into a carpet of clothing, treating Him as a king. Two questions press on the scene: what did this gesture mean, and who put it into their hearts to make it?
The crowd did not invent this gesture on the spot. It belonged to an older practice.
They spread the garments in the way. It was an Eastern custom to put costly rugs before the feet of kings, and the crowds followed this custom by putting their own garments down.
The same custom appears in the Old Testament. When Israel's officers made Jehu king, they put their garments under him on the steps and blew the trumpet (2 Kings 9:13). One writer calls this an ancient custom that points forward to this very scene (C. Knapp).
Heaven had already given Him glory. Here the honour came from the crowd's own clothing.
At the entry into Jerusalem, we see Him accepted in Israel, receiving such honours as Israel could give Him. The owner of the donkey acknowledges His higher claim as Lord. The crowd, it is true, cannot bathe His garments in glory, as heaven had done before. But they can spread their own garments under His feet, and surround Him with the joys of a feast of tabernacles. No glorified ones come out from their homes of glory to wait on Him and honour Him. But His citizens will hail Him as their King.
Some have read the colt as a picture of the nations outside Israel submitting to the gospel. William Kelly rejects that reading. He points to what the scene proves about the rider.
Writers ancient and modern have laboured to find in this remarkable incident a picture of the Gentiles obeying the gospel, as the Lord received and rode on the colt. That seems to me far from intelligent. It was simply the evidence of His divine knowledge, and the assertion among the Jews of His claim as Jehovah Messiah. Facts confirmed that claim, and so did the proven submission of human hearts, where God was pleased to produce it, to the honour of His Son. This is why the Spirit records in such detail the words that passed and the fulfilment of all He said.
The clothes on the animal and the clothes on the ground carried one message. The animal He rode showed what His reign would offer.
The people put their clothing on the animal for the Lord to ride on. They spread other garments on the ground in the way for the donkey to walk on. This was a symbol of their submission to this blessed though lowly Messiah of Israel. He did not ride on a war horse, as He will when He comes in judgment (Rev. 19:11). He rode a lowly donkey's colt, for He was presented in grace, offering peace, if people would receive it.
No leader organised this welcome. Commentators trace the whole scene to God at work in ordinary people.
The sovereign power of God moves a very great crowd to lay their garments on the road He travels. Others cut branches from the trees to spread in the way... The Jewish leaders had arranged nothing of the kind, though you would expect it at the arrival of their Messiah. Yet without any arrangement God worked in men's hearts. The result was a public presentation of the Messiah that the leaders could not ignore, however strongly they disapproved.
The praise was real, but it did not last. Even so, God had His own reason for producing it.
How happy for them if their hearts had been changed so as to hold on to this testimony in the Spirit. But God in His sovereignty arranged their hearts to give this testimony. He could not allow His Son to be rejected without receiving it.
The colt was on that road because the Lord had need of it, and the disciples loosed it and brought it. That points to a lesson for anyone who serves Him.
Luke tells us that the colt was the one the Lord had need of. He instructs the disciples to go and loose it, and more than that, to bring it to Jesus. Those who are older, and those who seek to serve the Lord, should take that word to heart. Are we able, under the Lord's command, to bring in a ministry that results in affections being set free for His service?
- Custom — spreading garments on the road honoured a king, as Israel's officers did for Jehu.
- Submission — the clothes on the colt and on the road showed the people bowing to a Messiah who came lowly, not on a war horse.
- Claim — Christ was asserting His claim as Jehovah Messiah, proved by His divine knowledge and by hearts God moved to honour Him.
- Sovereignty — no leader arranged this welcome; God worked in the crowd, and the leaders could not ignore the result.
- Application — the Lord asks for what He needs to be loosed and brought to Him; our work is to set affections free for Him.
And as he drew near, already at the descent of the mount of Olives, all the multitude of the disciples began, rejoicing, to praise God with a loud voice for all the works of power which they had seen,
Only Luke records this shout of praise on the slope of the Mount of Olives, and only he names the singers. Two questions follow: why praise broke out at this moment, and why the words differ from the angels' song at Christ's birth.
The route matters. He came down the Mount of Olives toward the city from a direction full of meaning.
The stream of men swept onward along the mountain track, the one route best suited to such a company. It led down the slope towards the city and the temple. The multitude seemed of one mind that day. The King was among them. The rightful occupant of David's throne was entering the capital of the kingdom. He came in the very way foretold centuries before. He was entering, too, the city from the east, from the very quarter from which some day He will return to it, to leave it no more. For His feet will stand on the Mount of Olives (Zech. 14:4), and the glory of the Lord will return to the house of God from the east (Ezek. 43:2).
Their praise had a stated cause: what they had watched Him do. One writer traces the road that led here, and compares it to Solomon's ascent.
Jesus had passed through Galilee and Samaria on His way up, and came near Jericho. There His mercy still flowed freely: He opened the eyes of the blind man, and He brought salvation to the house of Zacchaeus... As He continued going up to Jerusalem, the crowd of disciples looked ahead in their praises to the triumph of the coming day... If Solomon's ascent so astonished the queen of Sheba that she was left breathless, the ascent of the Son of God filled His disciples with praise to God.
Luke does not name the same singers as the other Gospels, and the words he records fit the group he names.
This is not just the crowds, or those who went before Him and followed after, as in Matthew and Mark. Nor is it the children crying in the temple, "Hosanna to the Son of David," which Matthew records so fittingly. Luke tells us of the whole multitude of the disciples. So these are words that suit their lips alone. Yet God surely gave those words a wisdom far beyond the disciples' own measure, as often happens among the witnesses of Christ.
Another writer develops that thought. The disciples said more than they understood.
By all this He was clearly presenting Himself to Jerusalem as its rightful, God-sent King. His disciples helped in this, and as they came near the city they began to praise God and rejoice. John 12:16 tells us plainly that at the time they did not understand what they were doing. Yet the Spirit of God clearly took hold of their lips and guided their words.
The praise that follows in verse 38 turns the angels' song at Christ's birth around.
So the Spirit of God gives them a step forward — a great step — in divine understanding. It reaches beyond the song of the angels at the beginning... Here we have a striking change, or rather the reverse. "Glory in the highest" is now the result, not the opening. And instead of "peace on earth," the disciples fittingly sing, "Peace in heaven." Peace on earth will no doubt be the fruit by and by, since it is according to God's mind and was looked for from the beginning. But peace on earth was not the question now. The reason was clear: the earth was not ready. It was about to judge unjustly, and to be judged.
Another writer notes what happens here to the title "Son of David."
The Son of David disappears. He is indeed the King who comes in the name of the Lord; but it is no longer the remnant of Israel seeking salvation in the name of the Son of David, acknowledging His title. It is "peace in heaven and glory in the highest." The kingdom rests on peace made in the heavenly places. The Son of man, exalted on high and victorious over Satan, has reconciled the heavens... The kingdom on earth is only a consequence of this glory which grace has established.
- Seen — Their praise rested on evidence: the mighty works they had watched Him do along the road to Jerusalem.
- Sung — What they had seen burst out loud and public, right where the road tips down toward the city He will one day return to.
- Supplied — The words were beyond them. John 12:16 says they did not understand at the time. The Spirit of God guided their lips anyway.
- Shifted — At His birth angels sang of peace on earth. Here the song rises to peace in heaven, because the earth was about to reject Him.
- Settled — Peace in heaven comes first, and the kingdom on earth follows it. Praise sung on the edge of rejection already pointed to that end.
saying, Blessed the King that comes in the name of [the] Lord peace in heaven, and glory in the highest.
Jesus rides down the Mount of Olives, and the crowd of disciples bursts into praise. They hail Him as King — but why do they cry peace in heaven, and not the peace on earth the angels announced at His birth?
The shout was not invented on the spot. It came from a psalm Israel knew, and it belongs to a day still ahead.
They hailed the Lord as King. It was a rehearsal, we may say, of the shout that will rise when Psalm 118:25-26 comes true. The "Save now" of the Psalm is the same as the "Hosanna" of the crowd... The crowd seemed of one mind that day. The King was among them. The rightful heir of David's throne was entering the capital of the kingdom. He came in the way foretold centuries before.
Compare the accounts and something stands out. Luke's version reaches past Israel's throne into the heavens.
In Matthew it was, "Hosanna to the Son of David," and "Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest." All of that was true. But here we have something more. The Son of David disappears. He is indeed the King who comes in the name of the Lord. But this is no longer the faithful few in Israel seeking salvation in the name of the Son of David, owning His title. It is "peace in heaven and glory in the highest." The kingdom depends on peace made in the heavenly places. The Son of man, raised on high and victorious over Satan, has reconciled the heavens... The kingdom on earth is only a consequence of this glory which grace has established... To establish the kingdom, peace is made in heaven, and the glory of God stands complete in the highest.
Why the change? It lies in what men did with Him in between.
The angels greeted His entry into the world with praise: "Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace." But men rejected the One who alone could bring them peace. As He entered Jerusalem, shortly before the leaders of Israel rejected Him, the crowd of disciples rejoiced and praised God... Men had refused peace on earth, and now peace was about to spread her wings and fly to heaven.
So what will peace in heaven actually mean?
Peace in heaven will be the ultimate and glorious effect of the work of Christ: Satan cast out of heaven, the heavenly inheritance redeemed (Ephesians 1:13), and the things in heaven reconciled (Colossians 1:20). All this and much more will surely come, when the King-Messiah comes again. Then there will be peace on earth, peace in heaven and glory in the highest.
The disciples did not grasp what they were shouting. Yet their words were true.
They did not understand, yet they spoke out the mind of God, led by the Spirit. They knew the Scripture in Zechariah 9:9. But they did not foresee or expect this: at His first coming men would reject the King. Then, as the rejected King, He would go to the cross and there make a peace wholly connected with heaven. Yet was not this the truth? The kingdom was to be postponed, not lost.
Notice the order in the shout: the King comes, and peace in heaven comes with Him.
Until you get peace in heaven, Christ cannot ride in. But when peace is in heaven, you cannot hinder it.
But that peace had to be made first, and it cost Him blood.
Our blessed Lord acted apart from man, and even despite man. He would not return to heaven without making a peace far higher than peace on earth among men. It was not a peace between man and man, but between God and man. He made it by the blood of His cross.
So the verse is practical. It points anyone who wants peace in one direction.
Earth refused Him, but heaven received Him very soon after His resurrection. Anyone today who wants true peace will find it only by looking to the Prince of Peace in heaven. The day will yet come when the Lord Jesus will establish peace on earth, but not until He returns.
- Refused — At His birth the angels announced peace on earth. Men would have none of it, and they rejected the King.
- Relocated — So the praise changes. Peace is now in heaven, made between God and man by the blood of His cross.
- Rehearsed — The disciples quoted Psalm 118 without understanding it. The Spirit still put the exact truth in their mouths.
- Reclaimed — Peace in heaven means Satan thrown out and heavenly things reconciled. Until heaven is at peace, the King cannot ride in.
- Returned — Peace on earth comes back only when He does; until then it is found by looking up to where He is.
And some of the Pharisees from the crowd said to him, Teacher, rebuke thy disciples.
The disciples are shouting the praise of their King as He comes to Jerusalem. From inside that same crowd, a few religious leaders ask Him to silence them. Their words raise the question the whole scene turns on. Is this praise too much, or the only honest answer to who He is?
The Pharisees were strict religious teachers, proud of how carefully they kept God's law. Note where they were standing when they spoke.
It must have been a joyful scene, the kind that would stir even the most unemotional of men. Yet some stood right in the middle of the rejoicing crowd, untouched by it, though not unconcerned. These were Pharisees, who turned to the Lord and asked Him to rebuke His disciples. His reply silenced them. The Pharisees could only regard Him as a claimant to David's throne. One day all of nature will make itself heard, welcoming Him back as Lord and as Israel's King.
Two groups watch the same Man. One sings; the other tries to stop the singing.
He presents Himself for the last time to Israel, in the lowliness of grace. That was far more important than the kingdom. This produces the sharpest possible contrast between the disciples and the Pharisees. The whole crowd of disciples began to rejoice and praise God with a loud voice. They said, "Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" Some of the Pharisees appeal to Him to rebuke the disciples. From His lips they learn that if these were silent, the very stones would cry out. There must be a testimony to His glory.
They call Him "Teacher," then ask Him to stop a song that names Him King. That is not a small point about crowd control. It asks Him to disown who He is.
The Pharisees dare to appeal to the Lord Himself to deny Himself and rebuke the disciples. He tells them that if they held their peace, the very stones would cry out. As a result of His rejection this has in fact happened, and the stones of the ploughed-up city bear witness for Him today.
The test is simple. Their objection would only stand if the claim were false.
If He had not been Israel's true King, they would have had reason to object. But the Lord silenced their objection. His words implied that the Spirit of God had moved the disciples to speak. If they would not speak, God would make even the stones cry out at once. If people will not give true honour to the Son of God, that will not stop God from using any means He pleases to glorify His Son.
The reply about the stones measures the men who complained. Stone paved their own city, and stone would have praised Him when they would not.
But the hearts of the builders at Jerusalem were harder than the stones of their streets. They rejected the Stone which God had laid in Zion, for to them He was a Stone of stumbling. Christ's disciples were singing a sweet song of praise. Their hard, unfeeling voices cut across it with the harsh sound, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." What blindness! What insolence against the "King of Zion"... The King's meek and lowly heart stayed in perfect harmony with the daughter of Zion. Even such a rude interruption could not disturb it.
The words the Pharisees wanted silenced were bigger than the singers knew.
When He was born as man, the angels had celebrated "on earth peace," for the Man of God's good pleasure had appeared. They celebrated the whole result of His work. But now it was clear that death lay before Him. His rejection would bring in a time of anything but peace on earth. Even so, the first effect of His work on the cross would be to establish peace in the highest court of all — in heaven. It would also display glory in the highest, as He Himself went up there in triumph. This note of praise had to be struck at this point. God could have made the stones cry out. Instead He used the lips of the disciples, though they spoke the words without fully understanding them.
- King. The Pharisees saw only a man claiming David's throne. Their objection would have been fair if the claim were false. The Lord's answer shows it was not.
- Praise. The Spirit of God moved the disciples to say more than they understood. Not peace on earth now, but peace in heaven and glory in the highest through the cross.
- Objection. Asking Him to silence that song was asking Him to deny Himself. It came from men standing inside the joy, untouched by it.
- Answer. Hearts in Jerusalem proved harder than its street stones. They rejected the Stone God laid in Zion. Their rude interruption never disturbed the King's calm.
- Certainty. God will have a witness to His Son's glory. If human lips refuse it, He will use any means He pleases. One day all of nature will welcome Him back as Israel's King.
And he answering said to them, I say unto you, If these shall be silent, the stones will cry out.
The King rides down the Mount of Olives, His disciples are shouting praise, and the religious leaders tell Him to stop them. He refuses in one sentence: if these voices went quiet, God would find another.
The leaders were speaking for the whole nation. One writer hears its true mind in their demand:
But now the Pharisees say, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." That was the heart of the nation exposing itself in the representatives of the people. The mind of the nation stood out in that saying, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." That was rejection. "We will not have this man to reign over us."
Two groups stand opposite each other that day. His reply tells the Pharisees why the praise had to go on:
This gives rise to the most marked contrast between the disciples and the Pharisees. Some of the Pharisees appeal to Him to rebuke the disciples, but learn from His lips that if these were silent, the very stones would cry out. There must be a testimony to His glory.
The Lord did not simply prefer the praise. He gave a reason why no one could stop it:
If He had not been Israel's true King, they would have had reason to object. But the Lord silenced their objections. He implied that the Spirit of God moved the disciples to speak, and that if they would not speak, God would make even the stones cry out at once. How true it is! If people will not give true honor to the Son of God, that will not stop God. He will use any means He pleases to glorify His Son.
These men were the builders of Israel. One writer weighs their hearts against the stones under their feet:
But the hearts of the builders at Jerusalem were harder than the stones of their streets. They rejected the Stone which God had laid in Zion, for He was to them a Stone of stumbling. Christ's disciples were singing praise in sweet harmony. Their hard, unfeeling voices broke into it with the shrill cry, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples." What blindness!
This is not the only place in the Bible where stones are heard:
Even stones may have a voice in the ear of the Lord. Habakkuk 2:11; Luke 19:40.
One writer says the words came true in a way you can still see:
The Pharisees dare to appeal to the Lord Himself to deny Himself, and rebuke the disciples. He tells them that, if the disciples stayed silent, the very stones would cry out. As a result of His rejection this has indeed taken place, and the stones of the ruined city bear witness for Him today.
The Pharisees had their own low estimate of Him. One writer sets it beside what is still to come:
The Pharisees might regard Him as only a claimant to David's throne. In time to come all lifeless nature will make itself understood when it welcomes Him back as Jehovah and as Israel's King (Psalm 96; 98).
- Voice given — the Spirit of God moved the disciples to praise Him. That is why the Lord would not stop them.
- Voice refused — "Teacher, rebuke your disciples" was the nation's real mind speaking. It was rejection of the King Himself.
- Voice guaranteed — silence one witness and God raises another. There must be a testimony to His glory, and He will use any means He pleases to get it.
- Voice in ruins — the leaders proved harder than the stones of their own streets. The stones of the ruined city have spoken for Him ever since.
- Voice in full — one day all lifeless nature will speak. It will welcome Him back as Israel's King.
And as he drew near, seeing the city, he wept over it,
The road into Jerusalem is loud with praise. The crowd is cheering and the disciples are shouting blessings on their King. Then the city comes into view, and the one person not celebrating is the one being celebrated.
The scene holds two moods at once, and commentators note that the sadness belongs to the King Himself.
Now comes a striking contrast. As they approached the city the disciples rejoiced and shouted blessings on the King. The King Himself wept over the city! ... The lament of the LORD over Israel, recorded in Psalm 81:13, comes back here. It is far deeper now, as they approached the greatest of all their terrible sins. Jerusalem did not know the things that belonged to her peace, so peace on earth was impossible at that time... The sunrise from on high had visited them, and they did not know the time of their visitation.
Luke does not use the word John uses at the grave of Lazarus. The difference is audible.
And what kind of weeping was this? He wept at the grave of Lazarus and that was a still, a silent weeping. But before Jerusalem He broke out in loud and deep lamentations. The different words used in the original Greek clearly prove this.
One writer sets the two words side by side.
"Wept" here means "sobbed" or "wailed" (eklausen). It is the word used of Peter in Mark 14:72. In John 11:35 we have a different word for the Lord, edakrue, "shed tears."
The obvious guesses — a crowd that would soon turn, a cross only days away — are set aside.
He who was the object of that popular ovation could not hold back His tears as He looked over Jerusalem. Sometimes people shed tears for joy; His were not that. Were they drawn out as He thought of how quickly popular praise changes, and of His coming sufferings? No. Those tears came from what was about to fall on the city because she rejected Him. Only Luke tells us about them.
Being rejected did not dry up His affection for the place. It did the opposite.
The same crowd was now pressing around Him and joining in the "Hosanna" of His disciples. He knew that a few days later they would demand His death, shouting, "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!" Did this hold back His tears? No, it only drew them out, because of the terrible judgment hanging over the unhappy blinded city.
These are the tears of a real man. Writers here insist they are more than that.
Look at Christ on earth and you see the "Son of Man who is in heaven," displaying God on earth before our eyes. "In him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily." See Him weeping over Jerusalem: the Messiah's heart wrung with grief over His people's sin. It was the tender heart of a man. But it sprang from that deep and wonderful fountain — "The tears fell from human eyes, but they came from the heart of God." So God was displayed. The heart adores when we think that we have to do with a God who has stooped down to human tears, in a world of tears.
The next verses pronounce judgment. The mouth that pronounces it is weeping.
If men will not receive the offers of grace, Christ grieves (Mark 3:5). He is like a judge who passes the sentence with tears in his eyes... "I come to save you, but you push salvation away from you. I come with healing under My wings, but you bolt the door on your physician. I only want you to open your hearts and receive Me. Then I will open heaven to receive you. But you would rather stay with your sins and die than come to Me and live." "Israel would not submit to me" (Ps. 81:11). Well, sinners, I will weep at your funerals.
Every detail of the warning came true in the Roman siege. That fact makes the tears more remarkable, not less.
Every word of the warning was exactly fulfilled in the siege of Titus. But what grace shone out of that heart, overflowing with grief for the people! They were blindly refusing the very One who wept over them, and it was to their own ruin. His love for them was at once truly divine and perfectly human.
One writer reads Jerusalem's last opportunity as a mirror.
The scene in Luke 19 gives us a striking picture of where Christendom stands morally in these closing hours of the day of grace... Opportunity had been given them of learning the things that belonged to their peace, but these were "now hidden from their eyes." ... And note, ignorance is the ground of its condemnation, which is a solemn warning to those who choose to remain ignorant now.
- Visit. God came near in Person, and the city missed the time of its visitation.
- Tears. The word is not silent weeping but open lament — the same word used of Peter's weeping in Mark 14:72.
- Source. They fell from human eyes and came from the heart of God: divine love and real manhood in one Person.
- Verdict. Every word of the judgment He announced came true, spoken by a Judge who passed sentence in tears.
- Warning. Jerusalem did not lack evidence; she refused it. Christ still weeps over those who push His salvation away.
saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, even at least in this thy day, the things that are for thy peace but now they are hid from thine eyes;
Jerusalem is cheering as its King rides in, and the King is the only one crying. Everything turns on one word — peace. It was offered, refused, and now hidden from sight.
The joy around Him and the grief in Him run in opposite directions. One writer notes which word Luke chooses for this weeping.
Now comes a striking contrast. As they approached the city the disciples rejoiced and shouted blessings on the King. The King Himself wept over the city! In John 11:35, the word used shows silent tears. Here the word used shows loud grief, both seen and heard. Jerusalem did not know the things that belonged to her peace, so peace on earth was impossible at that time. The Lord foresaw and predicted her violent destruction at the hands of the Romans, which came about forty years later.
He weeps over the city that is about to kill Him, and He already sees what will follow.
But here we have another scene, His weeping over that very city that was about to cast Him out and crucify Him. It is a truth for us to treasure in our hearts. In divine grace He wept over guilty Jerusalem, which was giving up its own mercies and rejecting its own Saviour — the Lord God. He predicts that the city will be left desolate and destroyed, because it did not know the time when God came to visit it.
The city was not short of a desire for peace. It was short of sight.
He wept, for Jerusalem was not prepared to receive Him: it was ignorant of the things that belonged to its peace. The same is true of the world today. Men wanted peace, but they were too blind to see what peace requires. Those requirements were centered in the person of the Lord Jesus, the Prince of peace. Unbelief hid them from Israel's eyes.
The irony sits in the city's own name.
This was especially true of the city of Jerusalem. Its name means the city of peace, but how false to her name that city has been until now.
On that day pardon was still possible.
Oh, "Would that you, even you, had known" — all would have been pardoned then — "on this day" — what a day for Israel! Her sin had piled up, and grace piled up too, because of that very sin and because of the divine tenderness. But, alas, it only added to the sorrows of Jesus, if not of Jerusalem, His beloved. Now they were hidden from their eyes.
"But now" divides the verse in two. One writer marks where the line falls.
As long as He lived, that is, until the last entry into Jerusalem, the people could still repent. The words "But now they are hidden from your eyes" close it.
The warning He goes on to give came true in full. Yet the tone never hardens.
Every word of the warning came true exactly in the siege by Titus. But what grace shone out of that heart, so loaded with grief for the people! Blindly, and to their own ruin, they were refusing the very One who wept over them, in a love both truly divine and perfectly human.
Another writer names the choice the city faced.
This was the alternative, which His lament over the city brings fully out: it was the Saviour or the destroyer, Christ or the dreaded and hated Roman. In fact, they had already made their choice, and nothing remained but to leave them to it. But the Judge weeps as He gives sentence.
The verse does not stay in the first century. One writer turns it on readers now.
They had been given the chance to learn the things that belonged to their peace, but these were "now hidden from their eyes." Note that ignorance is the ground of its condemnation. That is a solemn warning to anyone who chooses to stay ignorant now. Many will even plead ignorance as a ground of forgiveness. But God takes pains to enlighten, so pleading ignorance is only proof of the most glaring stubbornness.
- Visit — God came to His city in person; the whole verdict hung on Jerusalem not knowing the time of that visit.
- Peace — the things that make for peace were centered in one person, the Prince of peace, standing outside a city named for peace.
- Grace — where sin piled highest, grace piled higher still; pardon stayed open right up to that last entry.
- Closed — "but now" shuts the door; the Judge passes sentence in tears, not in anger.
- You — ignorance was the charge, so "I didn't know" is no shelter when God has taken trouble to make things plain.
for days shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall make a palisaded mound about thee, and shall close thee around, and keep thee in on every side,
The King has just entered His own capital to cheers, and now He looks at the city and pictures the army that will one day surround it. He speaks in tears, which leaves two questions: did this happen, and why did it have to?
The prediction is unusual in that the one who makes it is weeping while He makes it. One writer sets the exactness of the outcome side by side with the heart of the Speaker.
Every word of the warning was exactly fulfilled in the siege of Titus. But what grace shone out of that heart! He was overwhelmed with grief for a people who were blindly refusing, to their own ruin, the very One who wept over them. He wept in a love at once truly divine and perfectly human.
The barricade, the encircling, the hemming in on every side — these were not vague images of trouble. A history of the Roman assault records how the decision was reached. (Older translations render the ESV's "set up a barricade" as "cast a trench," which is the wording quoted here.)
The Romans discussed three plans: to storm the city at once, to repair the works and rebuild the siege engines, or to blockade the city and starve it into surrender. They chose the last, and set the whole army to work "to cast a trench" around the city. But the siege was long and difficult. It lasted from the spring till September.
The sentence does not end at verse 43. It runs on to name the cause: the city did not know the time of its visitation. One writer explains what the phrase means here, and what it means elsewhere in Scripture.
The words in Luke 19:44, "the time of your visitation," undoubtedly mean the day of grace for Jerusalem. That grace came through the presence and testimony of our blessed Lord. It was the opportunity for blessing, and this is why the Lord laments... When, however, we come to Peter's words, "the day of visitation," the thought is rather that of judgment, and not of grace.
Verse 42 names what would have brought Jerusalem peace. Verse 43 says what came instead.
Men wanted peace, but were so blinded that they did not recognise what peace required. These things centred in the person of the Lord Jesus, the Prince of peace. But because of unbelief the things necessary for peace were hidden from Israel's eyes (v.42). Prophetically the Lord pronounced on Jerusalem the terrible alternative to peace. Its enemies would make it their prey, and subject it to oppression, siege and destruction.
Commentators differ here. Kelly, quoted above, treats the words as fully discharged in the Roman siege. Another writer reads them as having a further stage still ahead.
Those days did come. Yet I admit the Lord's prophecy was only partly fulfilled, and that it will have a fuller accomplishment later on. If you want to read a dark and bloody page of history, sit down and read the account of the sack of Jerusalem by the Romans under Titus. You will look on horrors that will strike to the very bottom of your soul. Only that time of terrible tribulation still to come will exceed them.
Some read what happened to Jerusalem as a pattern, not a one-off event.
Jerusalem is only a sample of the world in general. Because Christ was rejected, the world will have to go through a very different history than if it had been prepared for Him... The world is not prepared for Him, and the earth must pass to its rest through the judgments that will cleanse it of its defilements.
One writer turns the ground of that sentence — not knowing — on readers today.
They had had the opportunity of learning the things that belonged to their peace, but these were "now hidden from their eyes"... And note, ignorance is the ground of its condemnation. That is a solemn warning to those who remain willingly ignorant now.
- Visitation. "The time of your visitation" means Jerusalem's day of grace. The Lord's own presence and testimony gave the city its chance of blessing.
- Blindness. What made for peace was centred in Christ Himself. Unbelief hid it, and the barricade came in place of the peace they refused.
- Barricade. The words were not just images. The Romans chose blockade over assault, and set the whole army to work casting a trench around the city.
- Fulfilment. Every word came true in the siege of Titus. Commentators differ on whether that siege completed the prophecy, or points on to a greater tribulation still ahead.
- Warning. Ignorance was the ground of the city's condemnation. That makes it a warning to anyone who stays willingly ignorant while grace is still speaking.
and shall lay thee even with the ground, and thy children in thee; and shall not leave in thee a stone upon a stone because thou knewest not the season of thy visitation.
Crowds have just welcomed the King into Jerusalem. Now He tells the city what is coming, and why. The sentence falls on a single charge — she did not recognise the moment God came to her.
The word "visitation" does not mean the same thing everywhere. Here it points to opportunity, not doom.
In Luke 19:44, "The time of your visitation" certainly means the day of grace for Jerusalem. That grace came through the presence and testimony of our blessed Lord. It was the opportunity for blessing. This is why the Lord laments: "If you had known, even you, at least in this your day, the things that make for your peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes." But when we come to Peter's words, "The day of visitation," the thought is judgment, not grace.
The visit was God's own coming in the Person of Jesus. Not knowing it cost Jerusalem more than a blessing.
It is the hour of her visitation, and she has not known it. If only she had, even now, listened to the call of the testimony of her God! She is given up into the hands of the Gentiles, her enemies, who will not leave her one stone upon another. In other words, she did not know this visitation of God in grace in the Person of Jesus. So she is set aside. The testimony goes no further, and she gives place to a new order of things.
The verse is a verdict, yet the One who announces it weeps as He speaks.
This was the alternative, which His lament over the city brings fully out: it was the Saviour or the destroyer, Christ or the dreaded and hated Roman. In fact, they had already made their choice, and could only be left to it. But the Judge weeps as He gives sentence. She and her children within her would be destroyed — not a stone left upon a stone.
Darby weighs what that day could have been for Israel.
Oh, "If you had known, at least," all would have been pardoned then — "in this your day" — what a day for Israel! For if all her sin was piled up, all grace was piled up too... but now they were hidden from their eyes. The joy and acclamation of His disciples was right, yet it gave occasion to the tears of Jesus rather than wiping them away. All as to Jerusalem hung on this: "You did not know the time of your visitation."
The warning was not vague. Roman armies under Titus later besieged the city.
Every word of the warning came true to the letter in the siege of Titus. But what grace shone out of that heart, overwhelmed with grief for the people! They were blindly refusing, to their own ruin, the very One who wept over them in a love that was truly divine and perfectly human.
The charge is ignorance. That is what makes it a warning for people now.
They had the opportunity to learn the things that belonged to their peace, but these were "now hidden from their eyes." So the Lord, still yearning over darkened Jerusalem, speaks ahead of time as Judge and pronounces her doom. And note, ignorance is the ground of its condemnation, which is a solemn warning to those who remain willingly ignorant now. There are many like this. They will even plead ignorance as the ground of forgiveness. But God takes pains to enlighten them, so such a plea is only evidence of the most glaring stubbornness.
The ruins are held up as evidence that a window of opportunity really can close.
It was said of Jerusalem that she did not know the time of her visitation (Luke 19:44). Her capture by the Romans, and the desolation that followed, are standing witnesses of her folly in that respect.
The ruin of the city is not the end of her story.
He now sees it as lost to Him, and soon to be laid level with the ground, because she had not known this, the time of her visitation!... The people would not see Him among them again, offering Himself to them as their King, until by repentance and faith they learn to join with His disciples in calling Him "Blessed."
- Visit — "The time of your visitation" was Jerusalem's day of grace. God Himself stood among them in Christ, offering peace.
- Blindness — The charge was not that she fought the visit. She never recognised it, and not knowing was the ground of her condemnation.
- Tears — The Judge passes sentence weeping; the same love that announces the ruin had come to prevent it.
- Ruins — Every word came true under Titus: the city levelled, her children with her, not one stone left standing.
- Return — Being set aside is not the end: the city that missed His visit will yet greet Him as blessed.
And entering into the temple, he began to cast out those that sold and bought in it,
Two acts stand side by side here. The Lord weeps over Jerusalem, and then walks into the temple and clears it out. The scene raises two questions. What was God's house meant to be? And by what right does this Man say so?
The weeping and the clearing belong together. One writer asks what the Lord found in the people He had just wept over:
Next we have, not the cursing of the fig tree, but the spirit of grace in the Lord's weeping over the city. God's purposes will surely be carried out, but we ought also to know His real tenderness in Jesus. Those tears were not in vain, whatever it looked like. It was the time of Jerusalem's visitation, but she did not know it… But what did He find in the people? See verses 45, 46. God declares His house to be one of prayer; men — the Jews — had made it a den of thieves. It was a terrible moral estimate, but this is the true way to judge: that is, having God's word, to take the facts as they are.
He clears the temple as its owner. The words He uses mark the difference from the earlier cleansing in John:
"The Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to His temple," Malachi (3:1) had written… It was His house, and He claimed the right to cleanse it. He quoted Isaiah 56:7, and for its condition He pointed to Jeremiah 7:11… He had cleansed it once before (John 2:14-16), at the start of His ministry. Now He did it again at the close. The first time He acted as Son. He declared that the house was His Father's: "Do not make My Father's house a house of trade." This time He cleansed it as Jehovah Himself: "My house," He said. He had entered Jerusalem as Messiah; He visited the temple as Jehovah.
The name "house of prayer" says something about the God who lives there. And it is the Word that tells us so:
The Word of God tells what His house is in His mind. It is a house of prayer, where man is in touch with a God of love — where he finds a home with Him, and a refuge in his need and distress. This may have been known only in part, but the Lord who knew the Father's heart knew it to be such. To Him it was a house of prayer. So it is to the spiritual mind — to the one who fears God and so knows the Lord's secret; God's house takes its character from Himself.
Behind the Lord's two phrases stand two prophets, and the second names a condition the nation had refused to meet:
Jesus then enters the temple, ready to fulfil the promise the Lord made through Isaiah (Isaiah 56). That promise had a condition: the people were to keep equity and do justice. He would then have raised the house to a place of honour and glory, fit to be a house of prayer for all people. Instead He finds that they had made it a den of robbers, as the Lord had said through Jeremiah (Jeremiah 7:11). They had refused to change their ways and their doings… They had trusted in lying words while keeping up all the outward forms of religion. They came into the house of God as though it were their own place, and all the while filled their hearts with their covetousness.
One writer notes what the Lord leans on at the very moment He clears the traders out:
Jerome saw in this act of our Lord the greatest miracle He ever worked. We need not agree with him. But there is profit in noticing this. Even at such a moment His energy was unstoppable. His angry rebuke of their irreverence threw that unworthy trade out of the holy courts. Yet He uses the written Word as His ground and warrant, as He always does.
One writer brings the scene into the present, and points on to a final clearing:
Merchandise, however, had invaded its holy precincts then, and it does so even more widely now. They made it a den of thieves. The Lord "drove out those who sold in it and those who bought." One day He will "send His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all causes of sin and all law-breakers, and throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father."
- Tears first. The clearing of the temple follows the weeping over the city. Grace comes before the verdict, and the tears were not wasted.
- His house. In John He cleansed it as Son, calling it His Father's house. Here He calls it "My house." He enters the city as Messiah and the temple as Jehovah.
- His character. "House of prayer" describes the God who lives there: a place of contact with a God of love, a home and a refuge in need.
- Their theft. Isaiah's promise came with a condition: real justice. Instead they kept the outward forms of religion while their hearts were full of greed.
- His warrant. Even at His most forceful He stands on the written Word. And one day, He warns, He will clear the same trade out of His kingdom for good.
saying to them, It is written, My house is a house of prayer, but *ye* have made it a den of robbers.
Jesus drives the traders out of the temple courts, and He explains the act with two lines from Scripture. The verse leaves two questions: why does He call the temple "My house," and what is a house of prayer for?
Commentators note a shift in how Jesus speaks of the temple. Early in His ministry He cleared it as the Son, and called it His Father's house. Here at the end He speaks as the Lord of the house itself.
It was His house, and He claimed the right to cleanse it. He quoted Isaiah 56:7, and described its condition in the words of Jeremiah 7:11... The first time He cleansed it He acted as Son, and declared that the house was His Father's: "Do not make my Father's house a house of trade." Now He cleansed it as Jehovah Himself. He had entered Jerusalem as Messiah; He visited the temple as Jehovah.
That claim raised a question about His right to act.
The house was Jehovah's. The Lord did not come from Aaron's priestly family. By what right then did He take it on Himself to drive out the traders and overturn the money-changers' tables?... Who had ever acted as the Lord did? Who had ever applied the prophet's language to himself?
He does not only act. Even in the middle of the confrontation, He grounds what He does in a written text.
Jerome saw in our Lord's act the greatest miracle He ever worked. We need not agree with him. Still, it is worth noticing what He does at such a moment. Unstoppable power went with His angry rebuke of their irreverence, and threw that unworthy trading out of the sacred courts. Yet He uses, as always, the written Word as His ground and warrant.
The phrase describes what God is like, and so what His house is for.
The Word of God tells us what His house is in His mind. It is a house of prayer. There man is in fellowship with a God of love. There he finds a home with Him, and a refuge in his need and distress. People may have understood this only in part. But the Lord, who knew the Father's heart, knew the house to be such. To Him it was a house of prayer. So it is to the spiritual mind... God's house has its character from Himself.
The words Jesus quotes reach past Israel. One writer ties that width to the holiness Jesus was defending.
He kept God's house holy. He kept it holy as Jehovah's house, not as a convenience for Jewish pride. And as Jehovah's house, His Father's house, it had all its wide claim and value in His eyes: a house of prayer for all nations. The holiness of God's house is what widens it. Holiness makes it truly God's house, His claim is over all, and it is a claim of grace.
The word Jesus uses is strong. The same Greek word names the robbers in the story of the good Samaritan, and the two men crucified beside Him (Morrish Bible Dictionary). The damage fell on the very people the house was meant to welcome.
The house of the Lord was meant to be a house of prayer for all nations. It was just a den of thieves. Any stranger who came up there looking for God was cheated when he bought the sacrifices he needed. So he would be driven away from the true God instead of drawn to Him. The men who held authority in the house were potential murderers, as verse 47 shows. So it had become a stronghold of murderers as well as a den of thieves. No wonder God swept it away by the Romans forty years later.
Writers apply this warning to the present, not only to Israel's past.
God approaches men through that House, and man can approach God there. Religious professionals had corrupted it into a means of feeding their greed. What the leaders in Israel did, leaders in the Christian assembly can do too, but for the grace of God... The same greed that corrupted the House of God at Jerusalem has pushed its way into the spiritual House of God, and it corrupts there too.
Cleaning the house did not soften the men who ran it. Verse 47 records what came next.
The Word of God from His lips especially reached men's consciences. The religious leaders, having long rejected Him, not only lost all right feeling but were given over to a murderous hatred that would soon be satisfied. This is always how the world proves itself when faced with the light of God; and the perfect love of God in Christ only provoked it the more.
- Owner. He says "My house," not "the house." He cleanses it as the Lord of the place, and no one had ever spoken or acted like that before.
- Purpose. God's house takes its character from God: a place of fellowship with a God of love, and a refuge in need.
- Reach. Because it is truly God's house, its claim is over all nations — its holiness is what makes it wide, not narrow.
- Ruin. Trade turned that welcome into a swindle, so the outsider seeking God was driven off instead of drawn in.
- Repeat. God swept the ruined temple away, yet the same greed can still push its way into God's spiritual house today.
And he was teaching day by day in the temple and the chief priests and the scribes and the chief of the people sought to destroy him,
Jesus spends His last days before the cross teaching in the temple every day. Luke shows two things at once: crowds who hang on His words, and leaders hunting for a way to kill Him.
His ministry had covered whole regions. Now it narrows to one building in one city.
Galilee, Samaria, Perea — people in each of these districts had known the Lord's presence and heard His voice. That was now over. The days when God visited them were past. A solemn thought. They would never again hear His preaching there — the voice of the One who spoke as no man ever spoke. Now for less than a week He would be teaching in Jerusalem and in the temple daily.
The word "daily" matters. It rules out the idea that Jesus spent any of these last days away from the crowds.
"He was teaching daily": He could not have spent the Wednesday alone, away from the crowds, as people often suppose. That would crowd everything in chapters 20 and 21 into the Tuesday. Compare 21:37 and the verses that follow. His teaching here would be in the Court of the Women.
Only a few verses separate His weeping over the city from the leaders' plan to destroy Him.
What a scene! Outside the city, the heartbroken Saviour weeping over sinners. Inside, hardened sinners seeking to destroy the Saviour — seeking to shed the blood of the One who shed His tears over them.
He was only teaching. Yet that teaching hardened them against Him, because of where His words landed.
Above all, the Word of God from His lips struck the consciences of men. The religious leaders had long rejected Him. So they not only lost all right feeling but were given up to a murderous hatred, soon to be satisfied. This is always what the world proves to be when the light of God confronts it. And the perfect love of God in Christ only provoked it the more.
These were not fringe agitators. Scripture uses the same word for the leading men of a place.
"First" in Scripture often means the most important. Scripture applies it in this sense to men, Mark 6:21; Luke 19:47; Acts 13:50; Acts 28:7; to Philippi, Acts 16:12; to Paul as a sinner, 1 Timothy 1:15.
The leaders had made up their minds, yet nothing happened. Two things held them back — one human, one higher.
By this time the chief priests and scribes had fully decided to kill the Lord. They were looking for an opportunity. But He taught daily in the temple during these days before His arrest. They could do nothing until God allowed it. The Lord Jesus went on acting for God in the face of their resentment and hatred. The people listened closely to His words. Because of this the leaders were afraid to arrest Him, in case it stirred the people to riot. The fear of God meant little to them, but the fear of man and the pride of self-righteousness always go hand in hand.
The people hung on His words. That popularity was easy to misread — even by the men who feared it.
He was in the temple day by day, teaching as no man ever taught, with the crowds hanging on His words. Those who did not look below the surface might say, as the priests themselves did, "The world goes after Him." But the more they feared, the more their anger against Him burned, and they sought His death.
- Daily — Less than a week was left. The voice once heard across Galilee, Samaria and Perea now sounded only in the temple, day after day, right up to the arrest.
- Tears — Outside the city He wept over sinners; inside it, those same sinners planned His death.
- Light — His words reached the conscience. That is what enraged men who had long rejected Him, and the perfect love of God in Christ only provoked them more.
- Restraint — The leaders had decided on murder, but they could do nothing until God allowed it. Fear of the crowd, not fear of God, held them back.
- Response — Crowds hung on His words, and on the surface it looked like the world going after Him. Yet the same popularity only inflamed His enemies.
and did not find what they could do, for all the people hung on him to hear.
Luke closes the chapter with the Lord teaching in the temple every day. Two reactions meet Him at once. The leaders look for a way to kill Him. The people hang on His words, and that is why the leaders cannot find their chance.
The weeping of verse 41 and the plotting of verse 47 belong to the same few days, and one writer sets them side by side to show what the Lord was meeting.
Still, the heartless treatment He received drew no anger from Christ. No bitter or revengeful word fell from His lips. When He was reviled, He did not revile in return, and when He suffered He did not threaten. The hardness of our hearts only drew out a sorrow that showed itself in His tears... So we read that "the chief priests and the scribes and the leading men of the people were seeking to destroy Him." What a scene! Outside the city, the heartbroken Saviour wept over sinners. Inside, hardened sinners were seeking to destroy Him — seeking to shed the blood of the One who shed His tears over them.
His words reached the consciences of those who heard Him. The leaders, who had long rejected Him, answered that same word with hatred.
The Word of God from His lips especially told on the consciences of men. The religious leaders had long rejected Him. They had lost all right feeling, and were given up to a murderous hatred that would soon have its way. This is what the world always proves to be when the light of God confronts it. And yet the perfect love of God in Christ only provoked it more.
The crowd is the reason Luke gives for the delay. One writer adds a second reason, and names the fear that ruled the leaders.
By this time the chief priests and scribes had fully determined to kill the Lord, and they looked for an opportunity to do it. But He taught daily in the temple during these days before His arrest. They could do nothing until God allowed it. The Lord Jesus continued to act for God in the face of their resentment and hostility. The people were attentive to His words. So the leaders were afraid to arrest Him, in case it stirred the people to riot. The fear of God counted for little with them, but the fear of man and the pride of self-righteousness always go hand in hand.
The crowd's devotion did not cool the leaders down. One writer notes the opposite effect:
Day by day He was in the temple, teaching as no man ever taught, with the crowds hanging on His lips. Anyone who looked only a little below the surface might say, as the priests themselves said, "The world goes after Him." But the more they feared, the more their anger burned against Him, and they sought His death.
Whatever the leaders were planning, the Lord used every remaining day to speak to the crowd — and Luke describes that activity in a particular way.
Now He returned to the temple and taught the people. As Luke tells us, in keeping with his gospel, the Lord was that morning preaching the good news to the crowd... Luke often presents the Lord as preaching the gospel, and he clearly delights to do it. Remember, this is not the gospel of the grace of God that we know, but the gospel of the kingdom (8:1), the gospel for that day.
The same writer marks where His voice had already been heard, and how little time was left:
In Galilee, Samaria and Perea the people had known the Lord's presence and heard His voice. That was now over. The days of their visitation were past. A solemn thought. He spoke as no man ever spoke, and His voice would be heard in those places no more. Now for less than a week He would be teaching in Jerusalem and in the temple daily.
The same crowd did not stay that way for long. One writer draws the hard conclusion.
How could the people change so quickly from hearers to persecutors, crying out for His crucifixion? It may seem astonishing to us. But that is the sad fickleness of a crowd who only hear the Word of God and never do it. They were curious, but unsaved, without true knowledge of who the Lord really is.
- Hatred. His words reached men's consciences. The leaders had already rejected Him, and they answered the light of God with a settled will to kill Him.
- Restraint. They could do nothing until God allowed it. Fear of the crowd, not fear of God, ruled them.
- Meekness. He met the plot with no anger and no threat. His answer to hard hearts was tears.
- Grace. His time in Galilee, Samaria and Perea was over. He used the days left to preach good news in the temple.
- Warning. Hanging on His words is not the same as trusting Him. The same crowd would soon call for His crucifixion.
And it came to pass on one of the days, as he was teaching the people in the temple, and announcing the glad tidings, the chief priests and the scribes with the elders came up,
Jesus is back in the temple, teaching the crowd and announcing good news. Into that scene walk the nation's religious leaders, and their first words challenge His right to act.
Jesus had finished with the regions He had toured. What was left was a handful of days in one city.
Galilee, Samaria, Perea — in each of these districts people had known the Lord's presence and heard His voice. That was now over. The days of their visitation were past. A solemn thought. He spoke as no man ever spoke, and those places would hear His voice no more. Now for less than a week He would be teaching in Jerusalem and in the temple daily.
Luke says only "one day." Another account fixes it:
"One of the days." Mark shows that this was the Tuesday of Passion Week.
Jesus does two things here: He teaches, and He preaches. Luke picks a particular Greek word for the second, and it means announcing good news.
To "preach" (kerussein, to herald) means "a solemn announcement." When Luke speaks of the simple Gospel of Grace, he uses this word in particular: euangelizein. See Luke 4:18, Luke 7:22, Luke 9:6, Luke 20:1.
Luke loves to show Jesus announcing good news. But which good news? Not the one believers know best today.
The Lord had now returned to the temple. The day before, as Mark notes, He had cleansed it. Now, revisiting it, He taught the people. As Luke tells us, in keeping with his gospel, the Lord was that morning announcing good news to the crowd... He never uses the word gospel in this earlier book of his. Yet he often shows the Lord preaching the gospel, and he plainly delights to do it. But remember: it was not the gospel of the grace of God that we know. It was the gospel of the kingdom, the good news for that day.
Three groups come at once: priests with inherited office, scribes with their learning, elders with their influence. Together they show what religion becomes when it has a system to protect.
It is always likely to be so in an evil day. Worldly religion assumes that God approves of whatever already exists. It assumes the system will last and will win in the end. It was so in Israel, and it is so in the Christian world. Prophets like Jeremiah warned the religious leaders, who argued that God had guaranteed their temple and their whole system forever. Those warnings brought taunts and persecution from men who had the world's ear. They denied God's right to tell them the truth. And now someone greater than Jeremiah was here. Men who stood on their inherited office, men who claimed special knowledge of the Scriptures, men with leading influence over the people — they all demanded to know His right to act as He did, and where that right came from. They felt the solemn warning that ruin was coming on everything that gave them their importance. No wonder. But there was no faith in them, and no conscience toward God. So they turned away from any thought of their own ways and their own responsibility, and turned to the question of His title.
The place makes the failure worse. This was God's own city, and His own house.
Jerusalem — that "favoured seat of God on earth, that heaven below the sky" — had defiled itself. The temple is unclean. The elders of the people do not believe. Hypocrisy and love of the world stain the priests, the scribes and the rulers. They challenge Jesus instead of receiving Him. They lay traps and snares for His feet, in the place where they should have prepared a crown for His head.
The apostles were sent out to preach, and they had a model for the work.
Christ chose the apostles at the start so that, once He had trained them, they would go out and preach. The Saviour Himself was their Example in this. To the very end of His ministry He continued to preach the Gospel.
- Timing — This is the Tuesday of the final week. The travels through Galilee, Samaria and Perea were over. Less than a week was left, and He spent it teaching daily in the temple.
- Gift — He is not just lecturing. Luke's word means announcing good news, and Luke keeps showing his Master doing it. Here it is the good news of the kingdom.
- Reach — The good news went out to the crowd in the place where His enemies were strongest, while they were laying traps for Him.
- Refusal — The leaders turned the spotlight from their own responsibility onto His credentials. That is what religion does when it defends its position instead of facing God.
- Result — They set traps where they should have prepared a crown. Yet He kept preaching to the very end, and He is the model for every preacher since.
and spoke to him saying, Tell us by what authority thou doest these things, or who is it who has given thee this authority?
Jesus had cleansed the temple and was now teaching there daily, and the men who ran the place came to demand His credentials. Their question sounds reasonable — but everything depends on who was asking it, and why.
This is the first of several challenges in chapter 20, and they all end the same way.
Now we see the Lord meeting the different classes of officials and the religious and political bodies among the Jews. One group after another comes forward, hoping to puzzle Him and trap Him. In fact they only confuse themselves. They try to judge Him, and they expose themselves instead. The truth from His lips judges them, one by one, on their own evidence.
The challenge has one act in view: the clearing of the temple. Two answers were possible, and the rulers wanted to know which one Jesus would claim.
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The house belonged to God. The Lord was not from Aaron's priestly line. By what right then did He take it on Himself to drive out the traders and overturn the money-changers' tables? What He had just done in that way, He had done in His own name. "My house" He called it. Who had ever acted as the Lord? Who had ever taken the prophet's words as his own?… Was He really using power in that house as one able in Himself to do it? Or was He claiming authority handed to Him by someone else when He made all the traders flee before Him?
A warning had just landed: everything they lived on was heading for ruin. Instead of facing it, they changed the subject to His right to act.
And now someone greater than the prophet Jeremiah was here. The men who stood on an office handed down to them demanded to know His right to act as He did, and where that right came from. So did the men who claimed special knowledge of the Scriptures, and the men with the leading influence over the plans and the conduct of the people. No wonder they felt His solemn witness that ruin was coming on everything that gave them their importance. But there was no faith in them, no conscience toward God. So they turned away from thinking about their own ways and their own responsibility, and turned to the question of His title.
Matthew records the same challenge. Look at what the men asking it stood to lose.
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God comes into the world to do good, and man demands His authority! Before this, Jesus had been showing power in healing the blind and the lame, and in cleansing the temple. Now He is quietly teaching there. And this trapping question comes from men who find their cover of hypocrisy pulled aside, their authority in danger, and their dishonest gains disturbed.
He answered with a question about John the Baptist. What they did with that question decided what they got from Him.
Their question assumed that they could judge the Lord's credentials, if He produced them. So He called on them to settle a first question: the credentials of John, the man sent ahead of Him. This put them in a corner at once, for the people would have resented the answer they wanted to give. They bent with the crowd, chasing popularity, so they pleaded ignorance. To such men the Lord did not produce His authority. Instead He went on to speak with all the authority that comes from knowing everything, and they very soon felt its power. By the time the war of words ended, there could be no doubt about His authority.
This demand did not end with them. There is a way to tell whether a work is God's, and it is not a certificate.
This is the usual question from a church authority that has really turned away from God. What is of God recognises God's work: God's work proves itself… But it is well to remember that God's work does not need a permit. Who would give it one? God needs nobody at all to work, or to make others work. The man who pleads church authority for his work proves that it is not God who is working — for who can authorise Him?
- Setting — He was teaching in the temple He had just cleansed. The chief priests, scribes and elders broke in to challenge Him.
- Demand — "These things" means the cleansing. The real issue: was His power in God's house His own, or handed to Him by someone else?
- Deflection — A warning of ruin had just touched everything they lived on. They dropped the subject of themselves and asked about His title.
- Disqualification — They claimed the right to judge His credentials, then could not even judge John's. So He gave them no answer.
- Demonstration — He proved His authority by using it, not by displaying papers. He taught on until they fell silent, because God's work proves itself.
And he answering said to them, *I* also will ask you [one] thing, and tell me
Jesus is teaching in the temple in the last days before the cross. The religious leaders break in and demand to know what authority He has. He gives no credentials. He asks one question of His own first, and everything turns on whether they will answer it.
Luke sets the challenge inside a scene of ministry. One writer notes what the Lord was doing when the group arrived:
Now He returned to the temple and taught the people. As Luke tells us, in keeping with his Gospel, the Lord was that morning preaching the good news to the crowd... He was busy in that happy service when the interruptions came. The chief priests, the scribes, and the elders came to Him — a formidable and probably large group. They had recovered, we may suppose, from their surprise of the previous day. But no doubt they were still stinging from the rebuke, as they must have felt it was. So they demanded His authority for what He had done inside the sacred building.
He had every credential available to Him, and He names none of them. He asks a question instead of defending Himself:
The wisdom of the Lord's way of proceeding deserves full attention. He alone could have taken His stand on personal dignity, on the closest relationship, and on the highest mission. He pleads none of these things. He probes their consciences. They want to avoid the cost of answering truthfully, so they have to confess their own incapacity. They cannot guide others. They cannot even act rightly themselves in a matter of the deepest and widest concern to all Israel of that day.
He could have pointed back to His miracles. He does not. One writer, on the same scene as Matthew records it, shows how strange the demand was and what the Lord was after:
God comes into the world to do good, and man asks by what authority God does good in the world!... The Lord appeals to no miracle — He has done plenty, but He does not appeal to miracles... In reply He puts a question to them in divine wisdom, and at once it brings out the real state of their conscience.
Their question assumed they were fit to judge whatever answer He gave. His question tests that assumption first. Writing on the parallel in Mark, Kelly draws out the logic:
Jesus promises to speak about His authority, if they will answer His question about John's baptism... Who were they, then, to question the authority of Jesus? If all they could say was "We do not know," they confessed their own incompetence. Those who could not settle the question of the servant were surely not qualified to judge the Master.
The subject He raises was no mystery to them. They had already looked into John's ministry themselves, so they could have answered on the spot:
They had sent a special mission to John the Baptist to look into his claim. And everyone knew that John himself had acknowledged the Lord. They "sent to John, and he has borne witness to the truth." So what about "the baptism of John"? Was it "from heaven or from man"? Either they had already decided about John's authority, or else they were not competent to judge the Lord. Their verdict on the one would have to cover both. Either way, they had the means of answering their own question.
It can look like a trap set for men who had come to set one. One writer reads it differently. He says the question was the road to the very answer they wanted:
He did this, not so much to put their safety with the crowd at risk, as their evil hearts suggested, but to lead them, in God's own appointed way, to the answer of their own question. They should have felt no hesitation in deciding that John's baptism was "from heaven." That would have shown at once by what authority He was acting. For John's ministry was God's testimony to Him, the Christ.
- Question. They demand His credentials. He answers with a question instead, and the men doing the questioning end up under question.
- Conscience. He pleads no dignity, no relationship, no mission, no miracles. He goes straight for what they know and will not say.
- Competence. Settle the smaller question about the servant John first. Anyone who cannot do that is no judge of the Master.
- Evidence. They had already investigated John and heard his witness to Jesus. The means of answering their own question was in their hands.
- Kindness. The question was not just a trap. It was a path: admit that John's baptism was from heaven, and they would know by what authority Jesus acted.
The baptism of John, was it of heaven or of men?
The temple leaders had just demanded to know who gave Jesus the right to act as He did. He answered with one question of His own, about the baptism carried out by John the Baptist: was it heaven's doing, or a human idea?
Jesus had every proof available to Him and used none of them. Commentators point out where He aimed instead.
Our Lord answers by asking them what they thought of John's baptism. He appeals neither to miracles nor prophecy, but to conscience. The ancient prophecies had been fulfilled so plainly in His person, in His life and in His ministry! The signs and wonders He worked gave such full testimony! Yet their question proved how empty it had all been. And His question proved either their dishonesty or their blindness. In either case, who were they to judge? … How we judge, or refuse to judge, what concerns Christ is an unfailing gauge of our own condition.
These men had already sent an official delegation to look into John. They had done the research themselves.
They had sent a special mission to the Baptist to investigate his claim, and everyone knew that the Baptist had recognised the Lord. They "sent to John, and he has borne witness to the truth." So what about the baptism of John — was it from heaven or from man? Either they had already settled the question of John's authority, or else they were not competent to give a verdict about the Lord. Their verdict on the one would have to include both. Either way, they had the means of answering their own question.
Saying yes to that question carried a heavy price for these men.
They could not deny the moral power of John, yet they refused to profit by it. John bore witness to Jesus as the Messiah, and to Israel's need of repentance. So to acknowledge John's baptism as from heaven was a most serious matter for these men. It was something new, with not the least appearance of traditional holiness, no claim to age, and no connection with the priesthood or the temple. These were men who drew all their standing from the regular course of the law and its ordinances. Besides, it settled the question of the Messiah at once.
Both doors were shut, so they chose a third: a claim of ignorance they knew to be false.
On that point there was no doubt in anybody's mind. But answering it truthfully would have convicted them of disobedience. Saying that it was from man would expose them to the fury of the crowd. They talked over what to answer, for they saw the trap they were in, and they deliberately agreed on what they knew was a lie. … Their questions assumed they were competent to sit in judgment on His claims. … So He would not treat them as honest men.
Their answer cost them the ground they had stood on.
Who were they, then, to question the authority of Jesus? If all they could say was "We do not know," they had confessed their own incompetence. Those who could not solve the question of the servant were surely not qualified to judge the Master.
Commentators aim the same question at the book in the reader's hand.
A similar question is before people's minds today. It is not now about John, but about the Bible. A book is in our hands, with the highest claim to a divine mission. So the challenge comes to us: is it from heaven, or from man? If it is from heaven, the next question follows: "Why then do you not believe it?" But if the Bible is from man, let us put it in the museum as a curious relic of an ignorant past.
There is no neutral shelf between those two answers, and the pattern runs wider still.
"From heaven or from man?" This was the question about John. It is also the question about the Lord Himself. In our day we may go further and say it is the question about the Bible. John was only a man, yet his ministry was from heaven. The Lord Jesus was truly born of the virgin, yet He was from heaven, and so was His matchless ministry.
- Conscience, not credentials. Jesus had miracles and prophecy at hand. He used neither, and aimed one question at the conscience.
- Answer already known. They had investigated John themselves. The verdict on the servant would have settled the verdict on the Master.
- Cost of honesty. Owning John's baptism as from heaven meant giving up the traditions they stood on. It also settled who Jesus was.
- Ignorance as a lie. "We do not know" was a choice, not the truth. It showed they were unfit to judge anyone, and the Lord gave no answer to men who were not honest with Him.
- Your turn. The same question now stands over the Bible and over Christ Himself. From heaven — then believe it. From man — then it belongs in a museum.
And they reasoned among themselves, saying, If we should say, Of heaven, he will say, Why have ye not believed him?
The rulers had demanded to know by what authority Jesus acted in the temple. He answered with one question about John's baptism. Verse 5 lets us listen in on their private huddle — and what they weigh is not what is true, but what is safe.
Their discussion was not about finding out where John's baptism came from. One writer notes that nobody there was in any doubt about the true answer. That is why they worked so hard to avoid giving it:
On that point there was no doubt in anybody's mind. But a truthful answer would have convicted them of disobedience. On the other hand, to say that it was of men would expose them to the vengeance of the crowd. They talked over what to answer, for they saw the trap they were in. Then they chose to agree on what they knew was a lie.
The first half of their dilemma was not only about admitting past unbelief. John's ministry had none of the credentials these men lived by. Calling it heavenly would have cut the ground from under their own standing.
They could not deny John's moral power, yet they refused to profit by it. John bore witness to Jesus as the Messiah, and to Israel's need of repentance. So to own John's baptism as being from Heaven was of the most serious consequence for them. It was a new thing. It had not the least appearance of traditional holiness, no claim to age, no link with the priesthood or the temple. And these were men who drew all their importance from the regular course of the law and its ordinances.
Their supposed uncertainty was not honest. These men had already investigated John themselves. And John's verdict about Jesus was public knowledge.
They had sent an official delegation to John the Baptist to look into his claim. And everyone knew that John himself had recognised the Lord. They "sent to John, and he bore witness to the truth." So what about "the baptism of John? Was it from heaven or from men?" Either they had already decided about John's authority, or they were not competent to judge the Lord. Their verdict on the one would have to cover both. In any case, they had the means of answering their own question.
Jesus did not defend Himself. He asked about John, and turned their inquiry into a test of the inquirers. One writer traces where that test left them:
It was an appeal to conscience. But they had no conscience, except a bad one. It shrank into silence at once — afraid to commit itself, yet not afraid to make light of God and man... Who were they, then, to question the authority of Jesus? If they could only say "We do not know," they confessed their own incompetence. Those who could not settle the question of the servant were surely not qualified to judge the Master.
Another writer shows what their evasion cost them. Jesus had offered them a test of competence:
The Lord's answer came to this. Let them prove their competence by settling the far smaller question of John's authority, and He would then submit His authority to their examination. This at once plunged them into difficulty. If they endorsed John's baptism as coming from heaven, they condemned themselves, because they had not believed him... They would not say John's baptism was valid. They dared not say it was invalid. So they took the ground of ignorance and said, "We cannot tell." In this way they destroyed their own competence to judge. They also lost any ground for protest when Jesus refused to reveal His authority.
These men built the trap they fell into. The question exposed something in the human heart that is not limited to them:
Right at the start, He puts this great truth before everyone: man's conscience is bad, because it does not submit to the righteousness of God. And that is always the case. Man cannot deny that things come from heaven, but he will not believe. If pressed to the limit — look at the extreme case of unbelief — men love darkness rather than light.
- Heaven asked. Jesus turned their whole challenge into one question: where did John's baptism come from? It was the simplest test possible, and the one they could not face.
- Heaven admitted. Saying "from heaven" meant owning that John's work was God's, though it had no priestly or traditional backing. It also meant owning their own unbelief.
- Heaven investigated. They had already sent to John and heard his witness, so their later plea of ignorance was not honesty but cover.
- Heaven refused. They could not settle the smaller question about the servant. So they disqualified themselves from judging the Master, and got no answer about His authority.
- Heaven resisted. The pattern outlives them. People cannot deny that things come from heaven. They just will not believe, and they love darkness more than light.
but if we should say, Of men, the whole people will stone us, for they are persuaded that John was a prophet.
The rulers have demanded to know who gave Jesus the right to act as He does in the temple. He answered with one question about John's baptism, and verse 6 catches the leaders weighing the answer they dare not give.
Their huddle had two honest exits, and neither was open. Admitting heaven's authority would condemn their own unbelief. Denying it would turn the crowd against them. So they took a third way that was not honest at all.
The Lord knew well His questioners and their motives. He replied therefore by asking them about John's baptism: was that from heaven, or from men? On that point there was no doubt in anybody's mind. But an honest answer would have convicted them of disobedience. On the other hand, to say it was of men would expose them to the fury of the crowd. They talked over what to answer, for they saw the dilemma they were in. Then they deliberately agreed on what they knew was a lie.
These men are not weighing what is true. They are weighing what the crowd will do to them. One writer traces where that fear comes from.
Those who have lost the fear of God are just those who will be most completely dominated by the fear of man.
The people were sure John was a prophet, and the leaders had to work around that. They had never denounced him in public, and they had never accepted him either. One question from the Lord brought that double-mindedness into the open.
A great question was troubling people's minds in Israel when the Son of God came to earth. John the Baptist was in the land, thundering at the consciences of all, and claiming to have a divine mission. Most of the people regarded him as a true prophet, and many bowed humbly at his words. But their leaders treated him very differently. They did not openly reject him or say he was not from God. Yet they were not at all willing to acknowledge him. So the Saviour's challenge to Israel's spiritual guides went straight to the point: was the baptism of John from heaven, or from man? Their reply exposed both their wickedness and their incompetence.
Jesus never pleads His own dignity or mission here. He aims at the conscience instead. The men whose work was to guide Israel then confess in public that they cannot.
He probes their consciences. They want to escape the consequences of a truthful answer, so they end up confessing their own incapacity. They cannot guide others. They cannot even act rightly themselves in a matter of the deepest and widest concern to all Israel of that day… They could not deny the moral power of John, yet they refused to profit by it. He had borne witness to Jesus as Messiah and to Israel's need of repentance. John's baptism was a new thing. It carried no trace of traditional sanctity, no claim of age, no link with the priesthood or the temple. To own it as from heaven was extremely serious for men who drew all their importance from the regular course of the law and its ordinances. To disown John and his baptism would have ruined their standing, because all the people were convinced that John was a prophet. To them it was only a question of policy, so they dodged the answer behind a lie. They could not afford to be truthful.
Their problem was never a shortage of evidence. One writer reads the scene as a picture of the human heart in general, not just of a few officials in Jerusalem.
So, right at the start, the Lord puts this great truth before everyone. The conscience of man is bad, because it will not submit to the righteousness of God. And that is always the case. Man cannot deny that things come from heaven; but he will not believe. He may bring out his hard questions, like those of old, but with no real desire for the truth. What his conscience cannot deny, he will neither admit nor act upon.
- Question. They demanded Christ's credentials. He answered with one question about John's baptism, aimed at their conscience and not at their mind.
- Calculation. Both honest answers cost them something. One exposed their unbelief, the other their popularity. So they discussed what to say instead of what was true.
- Fear. The people, not God, settled the matter. Lose the fear of God, and the fear of man takes control.
- Lie. They agreed to say they did not know. That lie confessed that Israel's guides could not judge even the plainest spiritual question.
- Mirror. The same heart works in everyone: what conscience cannot deny, man will still neither admit nor act upon.
And they answered, they did not know whence.
The temple leaders had asked Jesus who gave Him the right to act as He did, and He answered by asking where John's baptism came from. Their reply here is the hinge of the whole exchange: was it honest, and what did it cost them?
Their words sound like humility. Commentators read the reply as calculated instead.
The question in itself was not an unreasonable one. But who asked it, and why? The Lord knew His questioners well, and their motives. So He replied by asking them about John's baptism: was it from heaven, or from men? On that point nobody had any doubt. But an honest answer would have convicted them of disobedience. On the other hand, to say it was of men would expose them to the fury of the crowd. They talked over what to answer, for they saw the trap they were in. They deliberately agreed on what they knew was a lie. "We do not know," they said.
Neither answer was impossible. Both cost more than they were willing to pay.
But they cannot answer it. If they said John's mission was from heaven, they had to believe the testimony he gave. If they said it was from men, they would stand in direct opposition to the people. They had no martyr's spirit, no willingness to suffer for their convictions. It was easier to claim ignorance, for all the humiliation that involved.
He could have pointed to His miracles or to prophecy. He did neither.
Our Lord answers by asking what they thought of John's baptism. He appeals neither to miracles nor prophecy, but to conscience. How clearly He had fulfilled the ancient prophecies in His person, in His life and in His ministry! How full the testimony of the signs and wonders He worked! Yet their question proved how useless it all had been. His question proved either their dishonesty or their blindness. In either case, who were they to judge? Little did they think that while they tried to examine the Lord of glory, they were really showing their own distance and alienation from God. So it always is. Our judgment of what concerns Christ, or our refusal to judge it, is an unfailing gauge of our own condition.
Kelly weighs what their shelter of ignorance confessed about them:
It was an appeal to conscience. But they had no conscience, except a bad one. It drew back at once, afraid to commit itself, but not afraid to trifle with God and man… So they preferred to shelter behind an ignorance that looked prudent. Who were they, then, to question the authority of Jesus? If all they could say was "We do not know," they had confessed their own incompetence. Those who could not settle the question of the servant were surely not qualified to judge the Master.
Their demand made a claim about themselves, not only about Jesus.
The chief priests demanded that He produce His authority. In doing so, they assumed they were competent to assess its value once produced. The Lord's answer was in effect this: let them prove their competence by ruling on the far smaller question of John's authority, and He would then submit His authority to their examination… They would not say John's baptism was valid, and they dared not say it was invalid. So they took the ground of ignorance, saying, "We do not know." In this way they destroyed their own competence to judge. They lost any ground for protest when Jesus refused to reveal His authority.
The Lord's refusal in the next verse is not spite. It matches the answer they gave Him.
They choose to be blind about John's mission, so He leaves them in the ignorance they chose about His authority. But He lays bare the state of their hearts. He convicts them of hypocrisy in the parable of the man who told his two sons to go and work in his vineyard.
- Question — They demanded His credentials. He asked about John's, and appealed to conscience, not to miracles or prophecy.
- Calculation — They weighed both answers by their consequences, not by the truth. They settled on what they knew was untrue.
- Cowardice — To admit heaven sent John was to admit their own unbelief. To deny it was to face the crowd. They would not suffer for a conviction.
- Collapse — They could not rule on the servant, so they were not fit to judge the Master. Their plea of ignorance confessed it in public.
- Consequence — Chosen blindness receives no light. He leaves them ignorant of His authority, then exposes their hearts in the parable that follows.
And Jesus said to them, Neither do *I* tell you by what authority I do these things.
The leaders will not say what they think of John. So the Lord will not tell them where His own authority comes from — and His silence has a reason.
The men who questioned Him held the top religious posts in the nation. What He had just done in the temple threatened everything they stood on. One writer sees an old habit behind their challenge: assuming that God approves whatever religious system already exists.
Worldly religion assumes that God approves what already exists, that it will last, and that it will win in the end. It was so in Israel, and it is so in Christendom... And now One greater than Jeremiah was here. Those who stood on their inherited office, those who claimed special knowledge of the Scriptures, and those with leading influence over the people all demanded to know His right to act as He did, and where it came from. No wonder they felt the solemn testimony of coming ruin to everything that gave them their importance. But there was no faith in them, no conscience toward God. So they stopped thinking about their own ways and their own responsibility, and turned to the question of His title.
The Lord had every credential available to Him, and He produced none of them. Instead He asked about John, and the question did its work on the men asking.
The wisdom of the Lord's method deserves close attention. He alone could have taken His stand on personal dignity, on the closest relationship, and on the highest mission — and He pleads none of these. He probes their consciences. They want to escape the consequences of answering truly, so they must confess their own incapacity. They cannot guide others, and they cannot even act rightly themselves, in a matter of the deepest and most general concern to all Israel of that day... It was useless to inform unbelief.
Verse 7 is not a confession of genuine ignorance. Both honest answers carried a cost. So they picked a third one they knew was false, and verse 8 is the Lord's reply to it.
On that point there was no doubt in anybody's mind. But a truthful answer would have convicted them of disobedience. On the other hand, to say it was of men would expose them to the fury of the crowd. They talked over what to answer, for they saw the dilemma they were in. Then they deliberately agreed on what they knew was a lie. They said they could not tell... Reality was far from them. So He would not treat them as sincere people. He declined, and rightly, to answer what they asked.
To demand His credentials is to sit as a court over Him. By pleading ignorance about John, they announced that they were unfit for the bench.
Who were they, then, to question the authority of Jesus? If all they could say was "We do not know," they had confessed their own incompetence. Those who could not settle the question of the servant were surely not qualified to judge the Master. In truth, their incapacity was the lesser fault. Their hypocritical wickedness was the greater, and the will was more at fault than the understanding.
The two authorities in question came from the same source. His refusal held back nothing they were willing to receive.
They dodged the question deceitfully by claiming they did not know (v.7). He then answered them flatly that neither would He tell them by what authority He acted. For His authority certainly had the same source as John's: it was from heaven. If they would not honestly admit the one, then clearly they had no intention of admitting the other.
The pattern here is not unique to one morning in the temple. Rejecting the earlier witness closes the door on the later one.
When people resist, the result is blindness. The more light they refuse, the greater that blindness grows. Anyone who receives the first testimony always receives more... Those who bowed to the witness of John the Baptist received Jesus as well. Those who rejected it rejected the Messiah too. John's testimony was taken away, and the people were left blind.
- Motive — His actions threatened their standing. So they raised the question of His title instead of their own responsibility.
- Method — He set aside every credential and asked one question instead. It aimed at the conscience, not the argument.
- Mask — Their "we do not know" was policy, not ignorance. Both honest answers cost too much.
- Measure — Men who cannot judge the servant are not fit to judge the Master. Their evasion was their own verdict.
- Withdrawal — His authority and John's came from the same place. Refuse the first testimony, and the second is taken away.
And he began to speak to the people this parable A man planted a vineyard and let it out to husbandmen, and left the country for a long time.
The Lord has just silenced the chief priests and scribes who demanded to know His authority. Now He tells a story about a man, a vineyard, and the tenants left in charge. That story traces the whole history of God's dealings with Israel. It also points to the death the Lord Himself was about to suffer.
Start with the vineyard itself. Who does it stand for, and what had its owner already put into it?
Now the Lord begins in His turn to show all the classes of the Jews the state they were in, beginning with the people as a whole. Israel had been Jehovah's vineyard. He had let it out to certain tenants to receive its fruit in due season. He had done all He could for His vineyard; it was impossible to do more than He had done. Israel enjoyed all the privileges which a nation could enjoy.
So who are the tenants? Not the nation as a whole, and the owner's absence has a purpose.
The vineyard is Israel. God allowed the vinedressers (the religious leaders) authority over it, while He withdrew from the scene for the time of their testing under law. Yet from time to time He sent servants (the prophets). They came to remind Israel of their true Master and to call for proper recognition of His rights.
Renting out a vineyard was an ordinary arrangement. The rent shows what God was looking for from Israel.
In the East people pay rent partly in kind, not all in money. But God looked in vain for any return from Israel. Eight centuries before Christ came, He complained: "What more was there to do for my vineyard, that I have not done in it? When I looked for it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild grapes?" For all the favours God blessed them with, Israel gave back nothing but the lowest ingratitude and sin. They handed out violence and murder to His messengers: they "beat one, killed another, and stoned another." Stephen challenged them just as sharply: "Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute?"
The owner stayed away a long time. What filled those years?
God had been patient for a long time. He was seeking the fruit that was due to Him. Yet people had dishonoured His messengers, His servants, mistreated them, and even killed them. There was one thing more that God could do, and He did it; He sent His Son.
The Lord told this story to the crowd, but its subject was their teachers. He was not guessing at what they planned.
Now they had to hear the Lord speak a parable to the people. It showed His perfect knowledge of their real intentions, and of the death that awaited Him at their hands. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all relate this, but with variations, as is usual. The subject is the ways of the teachers in Israel: what they had done in the past, what they would soon do, and the punishment they would bring on themselves as a result.
Matthew and Mark tell the same parable. Comparing the three accounts shows what each writer keeps in view.
As you compare them, you may notice that Matthew and Mark give fuller detail than Luke about God's dealings with Israel. Mark and Luke speak only of giving the vineyard to others. Matthew speaks of letting it out to other tenants who will give him the fruit in their seasons. So Matthew keeps responsibility most in view, and Luke grace. Both are true, and both matter greatly.
- Planted. The vineyard is Israel. God had done everything for it that could be done, so no failure lay on the owner's side.
- Let out. The tenants are the religious leaders. God gave them real authority over the vineyard, then withdrew to test them.
- Left. The "long while" away is not neglect but patience. God kept sending His servants, the prophets, to seek the fruit that was His.
- Refused. Israel gave back ingratitude and violence. The tenants beat, stoned and killed His messengers, and the rent was never paid.
- Aimed. Luke tells the story to the crowd, but it is about their teachers. Matthew presses responsibility; Luke leans toward grace. Both are true.
And in the season he sent to the husbandmen a bondman, that they might give to him of the fruit of the vineyard; but the husbandmen, having beaten him, sent [him] away empty.
This verse sits inside a parable about a vineyard, and the vineyard stands for Israel. The owner sends for his fruit and gets back a beaten servant — so what was God looking for, and why did He get nothing?
The picture is an everyday one: an owner, tenants, and a harvest when the rent falls due.
Israel had been Jehovah's vineyard; He had rented it out to tenants so that He would receive its fruit in due season. He had done all He could for His vineyard; it was impossible to do more than He had done. Israel enjoyed all the privileges which a nation could enjoy. At fruit-time, the Master sends His servant to receive the fruit of the tenants.
Who is the servant, and why does the owner keep sending after each failure?
The vineyard is Israel. God allowed the vinedressers (the religious leaders) authority over it, while He stepped back from the scene during the time of their testing under law. Yet from time to time He sent servants (the prophets) to remind Israel of their true Master and to call for proper recognition of His rights. Notice the patient grace of the Master of the vineyard. One or two servants had been cruelly mistreated and sent away empty. It would be natural for the full force of His displeasure to fall in swift judgment on the keepers of the vineyard. But even after they mistreated a third servant, He took no punishing action.
Two things happen here. The owner gets no fruit, and his servant is hurt.
There was no fruit to God — nothing but evil. There was insult to Himself and injury to His servants. One sin leads to a greater sin where it is not judged. They are sliding fast down the slope to destruction.
The single beaten servant of verse 10 compresses centuries. The Old Testament tells the same story in plain historical language.
It reads like a continuation of the historical statements made in 2 Chronicles 36:15-16. There God appealed through His messengers, sending them again and again. But all were mocked and misused until "there was no remedy," and He brought the king of the Chaldeans upon them. Here the story goes a step further: He sends the "Beloved Son," only for them to cast Him out and kill Him.
Behind the empty hands lies something worse than a poor harvest.
There is such a thing as God's looking for fruit from that which He has planted and nurtured in the world, but there is no fruit to be had from man towards God. The tenants' will was entirely against it. They did not recognise the authority of God in His vineyard: they liked to have it for themselves. The rules God had given only brought out the enmity and hatred of those He had entrusted with His vineyard.
The parable's principle does not stop with Israel.
God looks to see whether the vineyard bears the fruit that a vineyard cared for like this ought to bear. It is a general principle that applies to the Jews, to the church, and to each individual. If the church has received more than the Jews, God is entitled to expect that it produce more.
- Planted. The vineyard is Israel, and the owner had done all He could for it; every privilege a nation could enjoy was theirs.
- Sought. At harvest He sent His servant — the prophets — to remind Israel who their true Master was.
- Refused. They sent him back empty and beaten: no fruit to God, nothing but evil, insult to Himself and injury to His servants.
- Repeated. Unjudged sin grows into worse sin. Even after the tenants mistreated three servants, He still held back from punishing them.
- Applied. The principle covers Jews, church, and each individual — where God has given more, He looks for more.
And again he sent another bondman; but they, having beaten him also, and cast insult upon him, sent [him] away empty.
A landowner sends servant after servant to the tenants of his vineyard. Here the second one is handled worse than the first, and still comes home with nothing. Two questions follow. Why did the owner keep sending? And why did each servant fare worse?
The Lord is not telling a farming story. He is describing the teachers of Israel, and He does it in three tenses.
The teachers are pictured as tenant farmers, trusted by the owner with the care of his vineyard. The subject is the ways of the teachers in Israel: what they had done in the past, what they would soon do, and the punishment they would bring on themselves as a result.
The empty hands show what God received. The beating and the shame show what His servant received. Mark's Gospel records the same scene, quoted here from an older translation:
There was no fruit for God — nothing but evil. There was insult to Himself and injury to His servants. "And again he sent to them another servant; and at him they threw stones, and struck him on the head, and sent him away." They sent him away not only empty, but with insult. One sin leads to a greater sin where it is not judged.
This was not only a picture. It matched a long record of real messengers, sent and driven off the same way.
Prophet after prophet God had sent to get the fruit from the tenants. But they had mocked them, despised their words, and mistreated them (2 Chron. 36:16), and killed some of them. Now the Son had come. Did they ask who He was? The Lord in this parable made clear who He was, and that they really knew it. They were not in ignorance about Him.
What stands out in this verse is what is missing. No punishment follows. The owner absorbs the insult and sends again.
Notice the patient grace of the Master of the vineyard. The tenants badly mistreated one or two servants and sent them away empty. It would be natural for the full force of His displeasure to fall in quick judgment on the keepers of the vineyard. But even after they treated a third badly, He took no punishing action. Instead, the Lord of the vineyard decided to send His beloved Son, who was worthy beyond question of the deep respect of the tenants.
after_note_none: DELETE All of this is a great understatement of the actual patience of God, who had sent many prophets to Israel before sending His Son.
The line of servants was not endless. God's long patience ran on, but it ran toward one last Son.
Now Jehovah had long patience. He sent prophets till there was no remedy. He struck them and cut them short. He let them go captive, then restored them again. So the land was filled and the temple built. Still the word ran on, though the prophets did not live for ever. Jehovah had long patience, till having yet one Son, He said, "it may be they will respect my Son."
Luke states the end of the story in the barest terms.
It is simply (Luke 20:16) that the vineyard is given to others. They fell on the stone of stumbling then; when it falls on them — when Jesus comes in judgment — it will grind them to powder.
- Sent. The owner keeps sending because the vineyard is His and He wants its fruit. Each servant is a fresh claim, not a fresh experiment.
- Shamed. The second servant fares worse than the first. The reason is plain: one sin leads to a greater sin where it is not judged.
- Spared. Nothing happens to the tenants here. That silence is the patient grace of the owner. It understates how long God waited.
- Son. The sending had a last term. After every servant, there remained one Son, sent with the words, "it may be they will respect my Son."
- Settled. The tenants were not in ignorance about Him. The vineyard passed to others, and the stone they stumbled over will fall on them in judgment.
And again he sent a third; and they, having wounded him also, cast [him] out.
Days before His death, the Lord aims this story straight at Israel's religious leaders. A vineyard owner keeps sending servants for his fruit, and the tenants beat every one — so how long does God keep sending, and what comes when He stops?
One writer names what each figure in the story stands for, and points out that even a third beating brings no punishment:
The vineyard is Israel. God had allowed the tenants (the religious leaders) authority over it, while He withdrew from the scene for the time of their testing under law. Yet from time to time He sent servants (the prophets) to remind Israel of their true Master, and to call for proper recognition of His rights. Notice the patient grace of the Master of the vineyard. They mistreated one or two servants and sent them away empty. The full force of His displeasure could naturally have brought quick judgment on the keepers of the vineyard. But even after they mistreated a third servant, He took no punishing action.
The servants in the story are not invented characters. They stand for a long line of real prophets, and the leaders listening knew it:
The application was obvious. Prophet after prophet God had sent to get the fruit from the tenants. But they had mocked them, despised their words, and mistreated them (2 Chron. 36:16), and killed some of them. Now the Son had come.
Each visit goes worse than the last. Commenting on the same parable in Mark, one writer gives the reason:
There was no fruit for God — nothing but evil. There was insult to Himself and injury to His servants. One sin leads to a greater sin where it is not judged. They are rapidly sliding down the slope to destruction.
The wounding of this third messenger is one count in a larger charge. Another writer names all three:
The tenants of the parable plainly stand for the responsible leaders of Israel. They repeated their failure to produce any fruit for the owner, and then crowned their wickedness by killing the Son. They wanted the whole inheritance for themselves. So the Lord summed up the charge against Israel under three headings. There was no fruit for God. There was the ill-treatment of His servants the prophets. And there was the rejection and murder of the Son.
A landlord with three injured servants has evidence enough to act. Instead he sends One whom no prophet could match:
God keeps seeking fruit from the nation. Every approach He makes is not only pushed away, but met with growing resentment. The first servant is sent away empty. The second is treated with insult. Others are sent, and meet not only insult but persecution, even to death. More and more, the nation shows the failure of man under responsibility. But there is one last test, to see whether it is possible to move the heart of man. There is one Son — the well-beloved Son. He shall be sent. If there is a spark of goodness in the tenants, they will surely respect the Son. Even the best of prophets and kings may give some cause for dislike, or even hatred. In the Son there can be no cause of hatred.
The patience after the third servant is not indifference. It sets the measure of the judgment that came:
The more patient and long-suffering God has been toward men, the more dreadful and decisive His judgment will be when it falls. In fact the destruction of those tenants came when Jerusalem fell in AD 70. That fall stripped Israel's leaders of all authority and destroyed them.
Another writer follows what happened to the vineyard after that:
If they killed Him, God's patience with them would end. Judgment must overtake them, and others would work the vineyard. The book of Acts shows how this came about. After the Lord's death, the work of the apostles produced fruit in Israel, and the chief priests and scribes were set aside completely.
- Sent — The owner is God, the vineyard Israel, the tenants her religious leaders, the servants the prophets. Every figure had a real counterpart among the men listening.
- Spurned — Empty hands, then insult, then wounds. One sin leads to a greater sin where it is not judged.
- Spared — The tenants wound a third servant and throw him out, and still no punishment falls. That restraint is the patient grace of the Master of the vineyard.
- Son — Prophets could give men some excuse for dislike. The well-beloved Son gives none, so God sends Him as the last test of the human heart.
- Settled — The longer the patience, the more decisive the judgment. Jerusalem fell, those leaders lost their authority, and the work of the vineyard passed to others.
And the lord of the vineyard said, What shall I do? I will send my beloved son perhaps when they see him they will respect [him].
Every attempt to get fruit from these tenants has failed. Now, instead of striking back, the owner stops and thinks aloud — and his answer to his own question is his son.
One writer points to the owner's last remaining option, and to what it should have achieved.
All efforts to get the fruit from them having failed, one resource remained for the owner — to send his son. So, taking counsel with himself, as the parable pictures it — and only Luke records this — he says, "What shall I do? I will send my beloved son; perhaps they will respect him." If anything could have changed how the tenants felt towards the owner, it would surely have been the sending of his son.
The question is startling on God's lips. Another writer hears in it a love that will risk everything on one last appeal.
What affecting patience! God is, as it were, at a loss how to act, and how to reach the conscience and heart of those He had so favoured. By one immense act He tries whether anything can bring them back to a sense of their position. But it only brought out the evil. "My beloved Son" — the Lord presents what was in God's mind... He will venture all on the hope of reclaiming them, for He loved His people!... He lays the ground of responsibility by acting in love, and He does it through the One who has the highest claim on our obedience, submission, affection and respect. He sends His Son in that character, His heart going out as He does it.
Notice when the owner calls him "my beloved son" — while the sending is still only a plan.
Our Lord in this parable makes one point clear: the Son was already the Son before God sent Him: "Then the owner of the vineyard said, What shall I do? I will send my beloved son." The words show that the Owner looked ahead and planned to send One whom He could describe, even before sending Him, as "My beloved Son." So God's beloved Son was the One appointed to take up the work of mediator as soon as "the fullness of time had come" (Gal. 4:4). He was first the Son, then the Servant.
The sending of a beloved son is itself the measure of the sender's love. One writer sets this parable beside God's gift of His own Son.
Here God's love to the world stands revealed. Its expression, and its measure — so far as it can be measured — is now declared: "He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life"... God giving His Son to die for guilty creatures of Adam's race! That was love indeed!... Witness the parable of the tenants. See in it the owner taking counsel with himself, how as a last resort he should try to gain the confidence of the rebellious tenants (Luke 20:13)... Now since that gift came from the activity of Divine love, it was grace that was working — grace to which man could lay no claim.
The "perhaps" is not ignorance on God's part. One writer explains that the test was real, though God was never in the dark about the outcome.
If people had received Christ, the result would have proved that evil could be repaired. Now we know that the truth is quite otherwise. But God first put the matter to man's responsibility. Only afterwards did He show that this was morally impossible. Though He called to it, He was calling them according to the knowledge He had Himself of what He was going to do. "What shall I do? I will send my beloved Son. Perhaps they will respect him, when they see him." That is what God set before man. The object of faith is the person of Christ.
A note on the wording: the quotation above ends with "when they see him," which the ESV leaves out. One writer notes "there is good authority for omitting 'when they see him'" (William Kelly).
The owner hoped his love for the son would weigh with the tenants. It did — the wrong way.
Love is an element revealed in this parable, as well as the Son's rightful authority. The father sent his "beloved" son. But the father's love for that son had no softening effect on the tenants. They did know who the son was. "This is the heir," they said. Then, thinking about the inheritance, they plotted to kill him for that very reason.
- Patience. Every attempt to get fruit had failed, yet the owner still stops to ask, "What shall I do?" Here is a God at a loss how to reach the hearts He had favoured.
- Person. He is "my beloved son" while the sending is still only a plan: first the Son, then the Servant.
- Price. Sending the beloved son is the measure of that love — grace, which no one could claim.
- Proof. God set His Son before man as a real test, though He already knew what He Himself would do.
- Point. The tenants knew the heir and killed him for it. The last appeal only brought out the evil in them.
But when the husbandmen saw him, they reasoned among themselves, saying, This is the heir; [come,] let us kill him, that the inheritance may become ours.
The owner has sent his own son into a vineyard where every earlier messenger was beaten or thrown out. The tenants see him coming and talk it over. Their words are not confusion but calculation: they name him as the heir, and that seals his death.
The tenants do not mistake the son for another servant.
The wide difference between the servants and the son lay not in the office but in the person of the son. Both were sent as delegates, but the one sent "last of all" was the son, his "one son, his well-beloved" (Mark). The son was one whom the tenants were to "reverence," a respect not owed to servants. Because of his dignity as the only son, he had an unequalled personal standing. He was the "heir," as the tenants recognised, and they put him to death on that very account.
The father's love was no protection to his son.
Love is an element revealed in this parable, as well as the Son's rightful authority. The father sent his "beloved" son. But the father's love for that son had no softening effect on the tenants. They did, however, recognise who the son was. They said, "This is the heir." Reasoning about the heirship, they conspired to kill him for that reason. If they thought at all that he was the father's "well-beloved," that thought only inflamed their anger against him.
Older translations render their talk "reasoned among themselves." Commentators set that reasoning beside Caiaphas and his council.
The wicked tenants saw the heir of the vineyard. They "reasoned" among themselves, saying, "This is the heir. Let us kill him, so that the inheritance may be ours" (Luke 20:14). Caiaphas advised the council to "consider" how much better it would be that one man should die for the people (John 11:50).
The son was the last appeal left.
Only one motive was left that could move the heart of man. Would not One be acceptable who was infinitely greater in dignity and without any fault? For even prophets had faults. God's power was in them and through them, yet they had weaknesses like other men. But the Son was perfection: what if He were to come? Surely they must feel that the Son of God had a far higher claim on their affections and their reverence. And so it would have been had not man been utterly lost.
The parable stacks the charge in three layers.
The "tenants" of the parable clearly stand for the responsible leaders of Israel. They not only repeated their failure to produce any fruit for the owner; they crowned their wickedness by killing the Son. They wanted the whole inheritance for themselves. So the Lord summed up the charge against Israel under these three heads: no fruit for God; ill-treatment of His servants the prophets; the rejection and murder of the Son.
The aim was not just to remove a person. It was to hold the vineyard with no owner over it.
The coming of the Son made clear the real state of the heart of man. Israel would gladly have a kingdom without Christ, and the Gentiles would have a world without God. It is just as the tenants in the parable say: "This is the heir. Let us kill Him, so that the inheritance may be ours." And as it was with the leaders of Israel in the day of the Lord, so it is with the whole world today. It is increasingly clear that man's will is to shut God out of His own world.
That turns the parable on the reader.
If any of you should be seeking pleasure in the world, you know you do not want to find God there; for if you did, it would upset it all. So in spirit you are saying, "Let us kill the heir, and the inheritance shall be ours." You may not have lifted your hand to kill God's Son, but you have kept Him out of your heart.
The murder succeeded. It changed nothing about who owns the vineyard.
They rejected His claim on the inheritance, cast Him out of the vineyard (Israel) and killed Him. That is the point at which the Letter to the Hebrews begins. Could this rejection of the rightful heir overturn God's purpose? Of course not. "God … has spoken to us by His Son, whom He appointed the heir of all things" (Hebrews 1:2). The matter is fixed and cannot be broken. The inheritance is Christ's, and no one will ever take it from Him.
- Recognised. They name Him — "This is the heir." So this is not ignorance but rejection of a Son they knew.
- Resented. The father's love, meant to win reverence, only inflamed their anger. Love hardened the hearts it came to soften.
- Reasoned. Their crime began as private talk — the same inward reasoning that later led Caiaphas' council to decide one man should die.
- Wanted. The motive was a kingdom without Christ and a world without God. Commentators trace that ambition from Jerusalem's leaders to any heart that keeps Him out.
- Unchanged. They killed the Son to gain the inheritance and gained nothing. God has made the rejected Son heir, and no one can take it from Him.
And having cast him forth out of the vineyard, they killed [him]. What therefore shall the lord of the vineyard do to them?
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
He will come and destroy those husbandmen, and will give the vineyard to others. And when they heard it they said, May it never be!
The parable of the vineyard has run its course: the servants beaten, the beloved son thrown out and killed. Now the Lord asks what the owner will do, and He answers His own question — only for the crowd to cry out in protest.
This is not a threat left hanging. Writers point out two things. The longer God had waited, the heavier the reckoning. And the blow fell on a date we can name.
How blinding is the greed of man's heart! How can he hope to escape the just punishment of the Lord of the vineyard? The longer God has been patient with people, the more dreadful and decisive His judgment will be when it finally falls. In fact, those tenants were destroyed when Jerusalem fell in AD 70. Israel's leaders were stripped of all authority and destroyed.
The hearers do not argue that the sentence is unfair. What horrifies them is the cost to their nation. One writer reads their cry with real sympathy.
They felt the force of this, and, almost without meaning to, cried out, "God forbid." Such thoughts were far from them. Poor people! However tangled up in the ruin and the sin, they were far from wanting the results. No! Israel was not to suffer like this and be set aside. Their heart could not expect any such thing. It clung to the name of their glory with fond but untrue attachments. "The vineyard given to others" struck hard on the heart of a Jew. The Lord felt this. He entered into this awakened feeling, this involuntary "God forbid." In a sense His heart echoed it, and He fixed His gaze on them. They had not denied that the judgment was just. But its nature, once put before them, produced the shock that burst out in their cry.
The older translation quoted here reads "God forbid." The ESV gives the same cry as "Surely not!"
Commentators differ on who receives the vineyard. One reading points to the book of Acts. There God set aside the men who held religious office, and the work went on through the apostles.
But in that case God's patience with them would end. Judgment must overtake them, and others would farm the vineyard. Acts shows how this came to pass. After the Lord's death, fruit in Israel came through the work of the apostles. For that work the chief priests and scribes were set aside completely.
A second reading takes "others" to mean people outside Israel altogether.
In another image, Jehovah let out a vineyard to Israel and prepared it to bear fruit. But when He sent for the fruit, His servants were mistreated and killed. Last of all He sent His Son, and they killed Him too. God has destroyed those tenants and has let out His vineyard to the Gentiles: Matthew 21:33-41; compare Romans 11:21.
A third suggestion keeps the vineyard as Israel. It reads the handover as a change of leadership still to come. The giving of the vineyard to others "may refer to Israel being yet, in the coming millennial age, placed under the authority of those whose genuine faith will fit them for the place of responsible government" (Leslie M. Grant).
The three Gospels do not word this the same way. Luke says only that the vineyard goes to others. Matthew adds that the new tenants must hand over the fruit.
Notice that Mark and Luke speak simply of giving the vineyard to others. Matthew speaks of letting it out to other tenants who will give him the fruit at the right seasons. So Matthew keeps responsibility most in view, and Luke grace. Both are true, and both matter greatly. Again, in Matthew it is "he that falls," in Luke "everyone," and so on. There is breadth in judgment as in grace.
The Lord does not soften the verdict when they protest. He points them to what God had already declared.
The destroying of the vinedressers and the giving of the vineyard to others seemed to some to be too hard. They said, "God forbid." But is justice never to be done? He looked them in the eyes and quoted from Psalm 118:22. He asked them what God meant by declaring that the stone the builders rejected is to become the cornerstone. ... This same One they rejected will yet take supreme authority, yet they were plotting His death.
- Patience — God sent servant after servant, and last of all His Son. The longer He waited, the more decisive the judgment.
- Verdict — the destruction of the tenants was not just a picture. Jerusalem fell in AD 70, and its leaders lost all authority.
- Protest — the crowd's cry did not deny that God was just. It was the shock of hearing that their national glory would pass to others. The Lord met it with a look, not a retreat.
- Transfer — commentators differ on "others": the apostles in Acts, the Gentiles, or faithful rulers in a coming age. All agree the trust changed hands.
- Stone — the answer to the protest is Scripture itself. The One they were rejecting becomes the cornerstone, and grace runs as wide as the judgment.
But he looking at them said, What then is this that is written, The stone which they that builded rejected, this has become the corner-stone?
Jesus has just told the story of the vineyard. Its tenants killed the owner's son, and His hearers recoil from the ending. He does not soften it. He looks straight at them and answers with a line from their own Scriptures — a line where the rejected stone ends up in the place of honour.
The crowd protested at the ending of the story. He answered with Scripture:
Destroying the vineyard workers and giving the vineyard to others seemed too hard to some. They said, "God forbid." But is justice never to be done? He looked them in the eyes and quoted Psalm 118:22. He asked them what God meant by saying that the stone the builders rejected is to become the head of the corner. Israel's true Shepherd, the Messiah, is the stone that is meant. Psalm 118 says He would be rejected, yet would become the head of the corner. How could the chief priests and scribes evade the force of such words? This same One they rejected will yet take supreme authority, yet they were plotting His death.
The picture is of a building project, and the men in front of Him held the plans. He did not fit those plans:
He was the stone which they, the builders, were rejecting. He in no way fitted into the building which they designed and they refused Him. A day is coming when God will bring Him out to be the foundation and to set the lines of the building God has in view. That great event will also destroy wicked men and their false building.
The ESV calls it the cornerstone; older wordings read "head of the corner." Such a stone does two jobs:
The architect cuts this stone in advance. It is the last stone dropped into place, and it bonds the building together. It is also a test: whether it fits or not shows if the architect's plans were truly followed.
The men who threw Him out did not decide where He would stand:
The rejected stone had become the corner stone. They had handed Him over and thrown Him out. God gave Him the prominent place of the corner stone. Everything rests on Him as the foundation stone, and He unites the building.
The dispute did not end at the cross. It went to a higher court, and the ruling came at Pentecost:
His resurrection was the great theme of Peter's sermon on the day of Pentecost. Three thousand men could not resist the conviction that God had stepped into the great dispute between the leaders of Israel and Jesus — between the builders and the Stone they rejected. Heaven's final court of appeal decided in favour of Jesus. He was vindicated in triumph.
The same short quotation holds centuries of Israel's story and opens up the prophets:
Here is all Israel's history in brief, described exactly in a few verses. All their conduct from Moses' time to the cross is set out in a few words: their sin against Jehovah, against Christ, against the prophets, the terrible consequences for the nation, and God's ways with it. So through this great fact of man's sin and Jewish unbelief — that is, through the rejection and crucifixion of the Lord — God would raise Him to His own right hand, and He would become the head of the corner. Here also we have the key of Old Testament scripture by prophecy.
A day is coming when the people who refused Him will make this verse their own:
After the great tribulation God will bring Israel to use this verse. Their hearts and minds will be deeply moved. They will see that Jehovah did this in great wisdom, and they will marvel.
So the same stone has two futures for the same people. One summary of the chapter puts it this way: "It is just Israel's stumbling-stone, soon to be Israel's sure foundation" (William Kelly).
- Rejected — the builders were the religious leaders in front of Him. The stone did not fit their plans, so they threw it out.
- Written — He does not argue. He asks what their own Scripture means, and they cannot escape its force.
- Raised — the resurrection was heaven's verdict in the dispute, and it fell in favour of Jesus.
- Binding — as head of the corner He holds the whole building together. He also tests whether the work matches the architect's plan.
- Owned — the nation that stumbled over Him will one day call Him their sure foundation. They will marvel that God did this.
Every one falling on this stone shall be broken, but on whomsoever it shall fall, it shall grind him to powder.
The Lord has just told the story of a vineyard. Its owner sent his son, and the tenants killed him. Then He quoted Psalm 118 about a stone the builders threw away. Verse 18 is His own comment on that quotation. It sorts every listener into one of two outcomes: broken, or crushed.
The picture was not new to the men listening. One writer follows this one image for Christ from book to book. Each place adds a different note.
It is interesting to notice the constant use of this term "the Stone" for the Lord; it is set apart for this purpose. Isaiah 28 declares Him the Stone laid in Zion. He is a foundation there, and a judgment against the evil Jews who allied themselves with Antichrist and with evil. In chapter 8:14 He is the Sanctuary, but a Stone of stumbling and a rock of offence. In Psalm 118, quoted here, the builders of the Jews reject Him, and He is exalted… In Daniel 2, as we have seen, He is a Stone of judgment, and of stumbling for Israel, and also of foundation and blessing. He is always the Stone of judgment on the whole Gentile power. Here in Luke He falls on Jews at least; but the wording is general — "on whomever" — and so it takes in the Gentile too.
The verse names two disasters, not one, and they are separated by centuries. Falling over the stone had already begun; the stone falling was still ahead.
The parable of the tenants (vv. 9-18) sets out the Lord's dealings with Israel. He first let the vineyard to them. Then they rejected "the Heir," and He gave it to others. Nor was this all. The rejected stone becomes the head of the corner. Whoever fell on that stone would be broken; but on whomever it fell, utter destruction would follow. The past sins of Jerusalem illustrate the first. For the second we must wait until the Lord appears and carries out judgment.
Israel is the first case in point. The men listening were about to reject and crucify their own Messiah.
The Lord added a most solemn word for their consciences. Those who fall on this stone would be broken. That is, Israel cast out and crucified their Messiah, and history has proved this true (v. 18).
The second half of the verse changes direction. The stone is no longer lying in the road. Now it falls from above, and it reaches past Israel. Older translations render this second half "grind him to powder."
But "on whomever it shall fall, it shall grind him to powder." Here the Gentile is in view. It connects with Daniel 2:34-35, 45, which shows Christ as Stone falling on the whole imperial system of Gentile supremacy and grinding it to powder.
Matthew and Luke word this saying differently. Mark leaves it out. One writer explains why.
Again, in Matthew it is "he that falls," in Luke "Every one," etc. There is breadth in judgment as in grace. Mark does not have the verse at all, since it does not bear on service, the theme of the Spirit through him.
The warning is not only about the past. One writer applies the stone to anyone who works or teaches now.
For the one who will work or teach without any thought of God's Messiah, the testing stone has been laid by God in Zion. He will not be able to avoid it. "Whoever shall fall on this stone shall be broken." But a worse fate is foretold for another man. He accepts the testing stone in theory. In practice he works and teaches led by his own wisdom and will. When the top stone is lifted into its place on the summit of his building, it will come crashing down.
- Stone. One image for Christ runs from Isaiah to Daniel. It means foundation and blessing to some, stumbling and judgment to others.
- Rejected. The builders threw Him away. The rejected stone became the head of the corner.
- Broken. The first fate fell on Israel: they cast out their Messiah, and history has confirmed it.
- Crushed. The second fate is still future. The stone falls from above on the whole Gentile power system, as in Daniel 2.
- Everyone. Luke says "everyone," so no one stands outside. The worse fate falls on those who accept the stone in theory but build by their own will.
And the chief priests and the scribes sought the same hour to lay hands on him, and they feared the people; for they knew that he had spoken this parable of them.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And having watched [him], they sent out suborned persons, pretending to be just men, that they might take hold of him in [his] language, so that they might deliver him up to the power and authority of the governor.
The rulers could not seize Jesus openly, so they changed tactics. This verse shows their plot in three parts: watching Him, sending men to play a part, and a target — the Roman governor.
One writer traces where the word behind "watched him" came from, and how Luke uses it:
Doctors used the word paratērēsis and its related verb for watching the symptoms of a disease. So it means investigating before acting. Astrologers used it too, for watching the stars. When Luke uses the verb (Luke 6:7; Luke 14:1; Luke 20:20), he shows hostile intent.
This was not a single moment of watching. It was the pattern of His whole life:
Men hated Him because He told them the truth. His ministry, His words, His ways, His whole life stood as a testimony against the world. That is why they opposed Him so bitterly and never let up. They let other men pass on by. But they watched Him and lay in wait for Him at every turn of His path.
One dictionary explains who these spies were, and how their plan ended:
The men the rulers of Israel sent to trap the Lord are called "spies." They were secret agents. By pretending to be just men, they hoped to catch the Lord in His replies. But they were the ones put to shame, and His wisdom left them confused.
They needed the disguise because they dared not act openly:
Still the chief priests could not find the courage to seize Him. So they hired secret agents — hypocrites — to give them a believable excuse to put Him under Roman condemnation.
One writer names the groups behind this attack and what they shared:
Three great groups represented the people: the Herodians, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees. The Herodian was religious in a political way. The Sadducee was religious in a free-thinking way. The Pharisee was religious in a legal way. But these were only different forms of enmity against God. Human nature can never form an alliance with God's Christ.
Another writer is struck by the partnership itself:
It was an artfully laid plot. Pharisees and Herodians! Who will not combine to oppose God and His Son?
The aim was to hand Jesus over to Rome. The bait was a question about paying tribute to Caesar:
They wanted to trap the Lord in a Yes or No that would compromise Him, either with the Jews or with the Romans. If He said Yes, He seemed to be giving up the hopes of Israel. He would only be sealing them up in their bondage to the Romans. How could He be a true-hearted Jew, or the Messiah they expected to set them free, if He left them slaves of Rome as much as ever? If He said No, He would offend that suspicious government. He would give them a charge against Him as a man raising rebel claims to the throne of Palestine.
The plot failed that day, but they kept the charge and used it at the trial:
The Lord's enemies rose up and led Him to Pilate (23:1), the Roman governor who ruled the province of Judea. There they began to accuse Him (v. 2). The charge they brought — that the Lord was misleading the nation and forbidding people to give tribute to Caesar — had no truth in it at all (compare 20:25). But it was designed to reach their goal. Before the religious council they had used the charge of blasphemy. Before Pilate, they used a political charge.
Both sides of this deal were corrupt, and a plain answer defeated them:
The moral corruption of everyone involved stands out here — both those who paid the bribes and those who took them. Simplicity of purpose detects and exposes the crafty. Jesus sacrifices no duty. Let Caesar have what is his, and God His own.
- Watched. The word here means hostile watching, the way a doctor tracks symptoms. Others were left alone. He was watched and waylaid at every turn.
- Disguised. The rulers dared not seize Him openly. So they hired secret agents to act the part of just men, hoping for a believable excuse to have Rome condemn Him.
- United. Political, free-thinking and legal religion joined forces against Him. They were only different forms of the same enmity against God.
- Delivered. They aimed at the governor's court. They shaped the tribute question so that either answer would compromise Him — with Rome or with Israel.
- Exposed. A single, honest purpose exposes the crafty. He gave up no duty, and the spies who came to trap Him went away confused.
And they asked him saying, Teacher, we know that thou sayest and teachest rightly, and acceptest no [man's] person, but teachest with truth the way of God
The chief priests and scribes could not arrest Jesus in the open, so they sent men who looked sincere and began with praise. Every word of that praise was true, yet it was bait for a question meant to hand Him over to Rome.
The men who spoke these polished words were not students. They were plants, sent to listen for something usable.
Those called 'spies' are the men whom the rulers of Israel sent to trap the Lord. They were secret agents. By pretending to be just men, they hoped to catch the Lord in His replies. But His wisdom put them to shame and left them confused. Luke 20:20.
Guilt lay on both sides of the arrangement — on the men who hired and the men who performed. What defeated the scheme was not clever tactics but plain honesty of purpose.
The moral depravity of everyone involved stands out here — both the men who set it up and the men they used. Simplicity of purpose detects and exposes the crafty.
The flattery was not clumsy. It named the very qualities a teacher would most want to hear, and it aimed at getting Him killed.
One striking example is the men who came to the Lord Jesus (Luke 20:20-25). They pretended to honour Him by saying: "Teacher, we know that you speak and teach rightly, and show no partiality, but truly teach the way of God." So in effect their mouths blessed Him, but their object was to have Him cursed. Of course the Lord Jesus discerned their falsehood, and silenced them by His wise answer.
Their description was not an exaggeration. It fell short. And it fits only one servant of God.
Notice how these opponents paid tribute to His perfect truth. Their words were true in a way far beyond anything they realised. In the fullest sense He was the truth and taught the truth, never turned aside by man and his little world. No other servant of God fits that description. Human considerations even influenced Paul, as Acts 21:20-26 shows. Jesus alone is the perfect Servant of God, and He was so poor that He had to ask for a "penny" to be brought to Him.
Note what that does to the men speaking. They stood in public and certified the teaching they were plotting to silence.
They sent spies who pretended to be righteous men. But the Lord fully discerned their hypocritical flattery. Yet, enemies as they were, they bore public witness that He taught the way of God in truth (v.21). What a condemnation of their own evil designs!
The praise opened the door. The tax question was the trap behind it, and either answer looked fatal.
The question of tribute to Caesar was very subtle. They used the effect of their own wickedness to tempt the Lord. In principle the Jews ought not to have been subject to the Gentiles. And besides, the Messiah had come, the Deliverer of Israel. If He said, Obey the Gentiles, where was His delivering power? If He said, Rebel, they would have had an excuse to hand Him over to Pilate. But the Lord answered with divine wisdom. He put them exactly in the place where their sin had put them: Caesar's things are to be rendered to Caesar, and God's things to God.
He answered the motive before He answered the question. The men asking were not confused about God's will; they were hunting.
They thought they had Him, and it was a sharp, subtle question. He read the moral character of the moment at once and went straight at it. "You come to lay a snare, not to have a difficulty solved. Why do you test Me? Show Me a penny."
Few of us will ever face a trap question like this one. Almost all of us will hear the flattering opening line.
Once more the sin of flattery is mentioned. "A man who flatters his neighbor spreads a net for his feet" (verse 5). Flattery is close kin to lying and can never be right. It is always a mistake, and it leads to the gravest consequences. Flattery has spoiled more servants of the Lord than anything else.
- Sent — The questioners were spies. The rulers hired them to act sincere, catch His words, and hand Him to the governor.
- Sweetened — Their opening praise was a blessing on the lips hiding a curse in the heart. The compliment was there to soften Him for the trap.
- True — Every phrase they used was accurate, and truer than they knew. He alone taught the truth, never turned aside by man and his little world.
- Self-condemned — In public they testified that He taught the way of God in truth. That verdict convicted them. The next step, obeying that teaching, was the one they refused.
- Guarded — Flattery spreads a net for the feet, and it has spoiled more of God's servants than anything else. Simplicity of purpose, not cleverness, exposes the crafty.
Is it lawful for us to give tribute to Caesar, or not?
Rival religious groups joined forces against Jesus and set a trap: was it right for a Jew to pay Roman taxes? They came to lay a snare, not to settle a doubt — and His answer settled the believer's duty to government for every age since.
The men who asked had no interest in the answer. One writer names the groups behind the trap, and shows how the Lord read their motive.
There were three great representatives of the people, the Herodians, the Pharisees, and the Sadducees. The Herodian's religion was political. The Sadducee's religion was free-thinking. The Pharisee's religion was legal. But these were only different forms of hostility to God. The flesh can never form an alliance with God's Christ. We must be born again for that. Now they come to Him with a question: "Is it lawful for us to give tribute to Caesar, or not?" They thought they had Him. It was a shrewd, subtle question. At once He saw the moral point of the occasion, and went straight at it. "You come to lay a snare, not to have a difficulty solved."
Either answer seemed fatal. Say yes, and He denies Israel's hope of deliverance. Say no, and His enemies have a charge of rebellion to take to Pilate.
The question of tribute to Caesar was very subtle. They used the effect of their own wickedness to tempt the Lord. In principle the Jews ought not to have been subject to the Gentiles. And, moreover, the Messiah had come, the Deliverer of Israel. If He said, Obey the Gentiles, where was His delivering power? If He said, Rebel, they would have had an excuse to hand Him over to Pilate. Because of Israel's sin, God has broken down the key-stone of nations, and given power to the Gentile.
Instead of arguing, He asked for a coin — one He did not carry Himself. Their own money admitted what they would not say out loud.
The Lord's question, "Why put Me to the test?" showed that He was fully aware of their craft. Asking for the penny shows His own poverty. The inscription on the penny was a witness to their subjection to Caesar. His reply was therefore that they must render to Caesar his rights, and yield to God the rights that were His. Caesar had gained the rights of conquest over them because they had not rendered to God the things that were His. All this was so clear, once He pointed it out, that these crafty questioners were silenced.
Roman coins in the land were not proof of theft. They were proof of what the nation had lost.
The Lord was not going to treat Caesar as a usurper. He was the rod of God's anger in the land of Israel. Whether Chaldeans, Persians, Greeks, or Romans, they were no usurpers. So, when the Lord saw Caesar's coin passing through the land, He saw in it Israel's shame, not Caesar's usurpation.
The Lord did not cancel one duty with the other. He gave each its place, and the ruler's character did not change the answer.
The civil power has rights, and we should respect them. In this case the Caesar on the throne was anything but a pattern of goodness; yet, since he was God's minister (Rom. 13:4), they were to pay him tribute. But God has His rights over men. Men should respect these rights too, and submit to them. Peter once said, "We must obey God rather than men." He was upholding the duty of rendering to God the things that were God's. Paul wrote, "Pay to all what is owed to them: taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed." He was upholding, in turn, the principle of rendering to Caesar the things that are Caesar's. In this way the Lord settled the question for that time, and for all later ages as well.
The coin carried Caesar's likeness, so it went back to Caesar. The men holding it carried another likeness. That is where His answer reached their consciences.
This was not only a word to silence their objections, and to meet their hypocrisy, but was also a word for their consciences. They bore the image of God, and ought to have rendered to God what belonged to Him. But instead of putting themselves at God's disposal, they stood in opposition to Him and to His Son.
- Trap — the question was a snare, not an honest difficulty. Either answer gave them a charge to bring to Pilate.
- Coin — He asked for money He did not carry. Its inscription proved they were already Caesar's subjects.
- Shame — Caesar was no thief but the rod of God's anger. Israel had failed to render to God, so God gave the Gentile power over them.
- Claim — Caesar's rights stand even under a bad ruler. God's rights stand beside them, and when the two collide, we must obey God.
- Image — the coin bore Caesar's likeness, so it went back to him. Men bear God's likeness, so they owe God themselves.
But perceiving their deceit he said to them, Why do ye tempt me?
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
Shew me a denarius. Whose image and superscription has it? And answering they said, Caesar's.
His enemies bring Jesus a question with no safe answer: should God's people pay tax to Rome? He does not argue — He asks for a coin and points to the face stamped on it.
The men who asked about tribute were not confused about tax law. They had built a snare out of the very thing that shamed them.
The question of tribute to Caesar was very subtle. They used the effect of their own wickedness to tempt the Lord. In principle the Jews should not have been subject to the Gentiles. And besides, the Messiah had come, the Deliverer of Israel. If He said, Obey the Gentiles, where was His delivering power? If He said, Rebel, they would have had an excuse to hand Him over to Pilate... But the Lord answered with divine wisdom. He put them exactly in the place where their sin had put them.
The coin He asked for was everyday money.
A common Roman coin. It was the labourer's wages for a day... It was the chief Roman silver coin.
He did not produce one from His own pocket.
The Lord had no purse. When He wanted to preach on a penny, He had to ask to be shown one. The Lord had the wealthiest purse that anyone ever had in the world; but He never used any of it for Himself.
They named the owner themselves. That closed the case.
He asks to be shown the tribute money. ... They say it is Caesar's. Why then ask if he should have it? Every man has a certain right to his own. The answer to their question was stamped upon the coin.
The coin in their pockets proved who ruled them. One writer names the reason Rome had that power.
The inscription on the penny was a witness to their subjection to Caesar. His reply was that they must render to Caesar his rights, and yield to God the rights that were His. Caesar had gained the rights of conquest over them because they had not rendered to God the things that were His.
Because that subjection came from God's hand, Jesus does not treat the emperor as a thief who seized power. But Caesar's rights have a limit.
The Lord was not going to treat Caesar as a usurper. He was the rod of God's anger in the land of Israel... So when the Lord saw Caesar's coin passing through the land, He saw in it Israel's shame, not Caesar's usurpation... That was a golden rule ever since their captivity — the rule of returned captives, and so it is our rule. Do you treat the authorities God has appointed as usurpers? No — but do not confuse the rights of Caesar and the rights of God. If there is a collision between them, say with Peter, "Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge."
The question about the coin turns back on the questioners. If a stamped likeness settles ownership, then every person has an owner too.
Man is God's, for he bears His image. And the Lord says: "Render to God the things that are God's." If these men had given God what belongs to God, they would not have had Caesar's image on their money. Everyone here belongs to God... You are God's, and you claim yourself. You have no right to yourself, for you bear His image and inscription.
Another writer describes the coin itself, then turns it into a test.
The head of the emperor was stamped in the middle of the coin, and the inscription ran round the edge. These marks showed that the coin belonged to Caesar's realm, and it was right that it should be rendered to him... If such marks on the coin were definite proof that it belonged to Caesar, we do well to ask — what and where are the marks of what belongs to God? They are on the whole human race by creation, and — by redemption — more fully upon the saints today.
- Trap — either answer would ruin Him. Telling them to rebel would hand Him over to Pilate. Telling them to obey Rome would deny His power as Deliverer.
- Stamp — He does not debate; He asks for a coin, and the answer was already stamped on it. Whatever bears the mark belongs to the one whose mark it is.
- Poverty — He had to ask to be shown a penny. The One with the richest purse in the world never used any of it for Himself.
- Shame — Caesar's face on their coins proved they were under Rome. Rome ruled them because they had not given God His due. Caesar was God's rod, not a usurper.
- Image — the coin carried Caesar's likeness; you carry God's. So give yourself to God — and when the two claims collide, God's claim comes first.
And he said to them, Pay therefore what is Caesar's to Caesar, and what is God's to God.
His enemies asked about tax to Caesar, hoping any answer would ruin Him. His reply turned on a coin, and it raised a far bigger question: Caesar's image marks what is Caesar's, so what carries God's image?
Their own sin had put the Jews under Roman rule. They used that very fact to bait Him.
The question of tribute to Caesar was very subtle. They used the effect of their own wickedness to tempt the Lord. In principle the Jews ought not to have been subject to the Gentiles. And besides, the Messiah had come, the Deliverer of Israel. If He said, Obey the Gentiles, where was His delivering power? If He said, Rebel, they would have had an excuse to hand Him over to Pilate. Because of Israel's sin, God has broken down the keystone of nations and given power to the Gentiles. But the Lord answered with divine wisdom. He put them exactly in the place where their sin had put them.
The coin itself answered the question. Roman money circulating in Israel was proof of who ruled them — and of how they had come under that rule.
The Lord's question, "Why put me to the test?" showed that He was fully aware of their craft. His request for the penny reveals His own poverty. The inscription on the penny was a witness to their subjection to Caesar. His reply then was that they must render to Caesar his rights, and yield to God the rights that were His. Caesar had gained the rights of conquest over them because they had not rendered to God the things that were His.
The Caesar of that moment was a bad man. That did not cancel his rights, and it does not cancel any government's today.
What wisdom the Lord showed here! The civil power has rights, and people should respect them. The Caesar on the throne then was anything but a pattern of goodness. Yet he was God's minister (Romans 13:4), so they had to pay him taxes. But God has His rights over men, and people should respect and submit to them too. On a memorable occasion Peter said, "We must obey God rather than men." He was upholding the duty of rendering to God the things that are God's. Paul wrote, "Taxes to whom taxes are owed, revenue to whom revenue is owed." He was upholding in turn the principle of rendering to Caesar the things that are Caesar's. The Lord thus settled the question for that time, and for all later ages as well.
Anyone can see whose face is on a coin. The Lord's second clause asks the harder question — where is God's image stamped?
Man is God's, for he bears His image. And the Lord says: "Render to God the things that are God's." If these men had rendered to God the things that were God's, they would not have had Caesar's image on their money. Everyone here belongs to God. Perhaps you say you are not a Christian — you make no profession of religion. That does not matter; you are His creature, you exist to serve Him... You are God's and you claim yourself. You have no right to yourself, for you bear His image and inscription.
Since the two claims are distinct, they can clash. When they do, the higher claim wins — but the response is not rebellion.
For Christian responsibility, the form of government makes no real difference. It may be a dictatorship or a constitutional state; it may be aristocratic or republican... The principle or rule, as regards mankind and the earth, remains untouched... The only limit is this: the Christian owes absolute subjection to God. So when obeying a human government would mean disobeying God, of course he must obey God rather than man. To resist the powers is to resist God's ordinance. Sometimes a Christian may not obey a human command, because it would break God's will. Then his path is suffering, not resistance.
Paying is where this stops being theory. One writer also answers the question many people ask next: what does the government do with the money?
We are not put in the world to make governments or to change them. We are here to seek the interests of our Lord. At the same time we give all proper honour and subjection to governments, whatever they may be. The instructions apply to such matters as taxes and revenue... We are to pay all that is due in local taxes, customs duties, and income tax. What the authorities may do with our money once they get it is their matter, not ours. In the mercy of God we are relieved of that heavy responsibility.
- Trap. Either answer would condemn Him — a rebel against Rome, or no Deliverer for Israel.
- Coin. Caesar's money in their pockets proved whose rule they were under, and why: they had not rendered to God first.
- Claim. A bad ruler still has rights. We owe taxes and honour even to a bad government.
- Image. The coin bore Caesar's image; you bear God's. That is what He asks you to render — yourself.
- Collision. When the two claims clash, obey God rather than man. Then accept suffering, not resistance.
And they were not able to take hold of him in [his] expressions before the people, and, wondering at his answer, they were silent.
Two hostile groups joined forces to trap Jesus with one question about Caesar's coin. His reply left them nothing to use: the plot collapsed in public, and men who came to argue went quiet.
The plot had two sides: the men who set it up and the men they used. One writer weighs what the scheme showed about them.
The moral depravity of everyone involved is very marked here, both in those who set it up and those they used. Simplicity of purpose detects and exposes the crafty. Jesus sacrifices no duty. Let Caesar have what is his, and God His own. The world-pleasers and the zealots were equally defeated. They set one duty against another, and did neither properly, because each was seeking self.
The Lord did not argue. He asked for a coin and let them say whose image was on it.
His answer reduced them to helplessness. He made them admit their servitude to Caesar by an appeal to their own coinage. Their lips, not His, pronounced it to be Caesar's image. Then He gave the answer to their question. In the light of their own admission it was perfectly obvious. But He also used it to introduce the far weightier matter of God's claims upon them.
Foreign coins circulating in the land were evidence of a nation under someone else's rule. Commentators read that fact as the result of Israel's own failure, not of Roman theft.
The inscription on the coin was a witness to their subjection to Caesar. His reply, then, was that they must give Caesar his rights, and give God the rights that were His. They had not rendered to God the things that were His. That is why Caesar had gained the rights of conquest over them. Once pointed out, all this was so undeniable that these crafty questioners fell silent.
Another writer puts it more sharply. God's own hand had placed Rome over Israel.
The Lord was not going to treat Caesar as an illegal ruler. He was the rod of God's anger in the land of Israel. Whether Chaldeans, Persians, Greeks, or Romans, they were no usurpers. So the Lord saw Caesar's coin passing through the land. In it He saw Israel's shame, not a seizure of power by Caesar.
His answer was not a clever escape for one afternoon. It laid down two sets of claims that stand together — and it says what to do if they clash.
The civil power has rights, and they should be respected. In this case the Caesar on the throne was anything but a model of goodness. Yet he was God's minister (Rom. 13:4), so tribute had to be paid to him. But God has His rights over men. These should be respected too, and submitted to. "We must obey God rather than men," said Peter on a memorable occasion... The Lord settled the question for that time, and for every age since. God has claims on His people, and so does the properly established civil power. Both are to be respected and practically acknowledged.
Caesar's image on the coin decided who owned the coin. One writer applies the same logic to the other half of the Lord's answer: what carries God's image belongs to God.
Man is God's, for he bears His image. And the Lord says: "Render to God the things that are God's." Suppose these men had rendered to God the things that were God's. Then they would not have had the image of Caesar on their money. Everyone here belongs to God... If you are still in your sins you are not rendering to God what is God's. You are robbing Him. You are God's and you claim yourself. You have no right to yourself, for you bear His image and inscription.
Their silence was not surrender. They admired the reply and stayed as they were.
Seeing the wisdom of the Lord's reply, they marvelled, but sad to say, they had no conscience toward God or man.
Luke notes that they failed in front of the crowd. That failure reached beyond the day itself.
Here the attempt to get something against Him for His condemnation ended... Neither before the Jewish council nor before the Roman court could they bring a just charge against the Lord.
- Trap — Two opposed groups joined to force a ruinous answer. One sentence defeated both.
- Coin — Their own admission about the image did the work; He never had to accuse them.
- Shame — Roman money in the land showed they were under foreign rule. Their failure toward God caused it, not Caesar's injustice.
- Rule — The state has real rights and God has higher ones. Honour both, and when they clash, obey God.
- Silence — Caesar's image marked the coin as his; God's image marks you as His. Admiring Christ without giving Him yourself leaves a man quiet but unchanged.
And some of the Sadducees, who deny that there is any resurrection, coming up [to him],
The Pharisees have just been silenced. Now another group steps forward, and Luke names their belief before he gives their question. Everything that follows hangs on that: these men came to Jesus already sure that no one rises from the dead.
Luke names the group by what they deny. A survey of the sect fills in the rest of what they held, and points to people who think the same way today:
Next to the Pharisees, the Sadducees were the most prominent sect of the Jews. The Pharisees made converts. The Sadducees were far more exclusive, so they stayed fewer in number. They did not believe in the resurrection, or in angels, or in spirits. They held that the soul died with the body. They were strict about the written law of Moses, but they rejected the traditions of the elders — the oral law. They believed that God punished a man's sins during his life, and that man's will was free, so he had power to hold back his desires. This made them severe judges... The beliefs of modern rationalists have much in common with the Sadducees.
They had just watched the Pharisees fail. One writer explains what they hoped to gain:
This is the first and only time that Luke in his Gospel mentions them... They were the materialists of their day. They denied the resurrection and the existence of angels or spirits (Acts 23:8), and very likely paid little attention to His teaching... On this occasion they saw that the Pharisees had been silenced. They were not sorry, we may believe, that their opponents had been beaten. So they came to the Lord with what we may call a test case, one that settled for them that resurrection was impossible... If they could put a question He could not answer well, how great their triumph would be.
They came with a problem they had built themselves. One writer describes the method behind such objections:
The Sadducees were the party of unbelief. All the apparent strength of unbelief lies in raising difficulties, in inventing imaginary cases that do not apply, and in reasoning from the things of men to the things of God. The whole basis is false assumption... Their question also took for granted the resurrection — the very thing they denied.
Their unbelief did not stop at the resurrection. One writer traces the order of the Lord's answer:
First, the Lord's answer to the Sadducees about the resurrection (Luke 20:27-38). These Sadducees were consistent in their unbelief. Since they denied resurrection, they also denied that the spirit exists on its own after death. It is this last point that the Lord takes up and proves, and by it He proves the resurrection.
Luke's report of the same reply is fuller than Matthew's. One writer lists what Luke adds:
His reply to the Sadducees adds three important things to what Matthew records. First, this is not only about the state of those who are raised, or about the certainty of the resurrection. It is an age which only one class will receive, those counted worthy of it — a separate resurrection of the just (v. 35). Second, this class is made up of the children of God, because they are the children of the resurrection (v. 36). Third, while they wait for this resurrection, their souls survive death. All live to God, even though they may be hidden from the eyes of men (v. 38).
They attacked the one truth the Lord Himself has displayed by rising from the dead:
The difficulty existed only for unbelief — or rather, unbelief made it. What else can unbelief ever claim to do? It imagines difficulties, and nowhere more than about the most certain truth of God. The resurrection is the great truth to which all things turn. The Lord has shown it in its final form in His own person, now raised from the dead... The most active sect among the Jews at that time fought this truth and refused it. They were the most intellectual and, humanly speaking, the best informed. These were the people who set themselves against it most of all.
- Denial first. Luke names them by what they deny: no resurrection, no angels, no spirits, and a soul that dies with the body.
- Denial breeds difficulty. Unbelief's whole strength lies in raising difficulties and imaginary cases that do not apply.
- Difficulty exposes ignorance. Their test case took for granted the very resurrection they denied.
- Ignorance meets proof. The Lord first proves that the spirit lives on after death, and by that He proves the resurrection.
- Proof yields life. Luke adds that those counted worthy receive that age as children of God, and that meanwhile all live to Him.
demanded of him saying, Teacher, Moses wrote to us, If any one's brother, who has a wife, die, and he die childless, his brother shall take the wife and raise up seed to his brother.
The Sadducees denied the resurrection, and here they bring Jesus a test case built from a law in Deuteronomy about marrying a dead brother's widow. Their opening words — "Moses wrote for us" — raise two questions: what was that law for, and can Scripture be used against the truth it teaches?
This is the only place in Luke's Gospel where this group appears. What they denied shaped the question they asked:
They were the materialists of their day. They denied the resurrection and the existence of angels or spirits, and probably took little interest in His teaching. This time they saw that the Pharisees had been silenced, and we may believe they were not sorry to see their rivals beaten. So they came to the Lord with what we may call a test case. To their minds it proved that resurrection was impossible. The Pharisees were looking for a charge to bring against Him in the religious or the civil court. The Sadducees had no such plan. But if they could ask a question He could not answer well, what a triumph that would be!
Notice how they put it. They do not say the law is merely about Moses; they say Moses wrote it:
The New Testament states plainly that Moses wrote the books. In Matthew 22:24 the Jews said to our Lord, "Moses said." In John 8:5 they said, "Moses commanded us in the law." Again in Mark 12:19, and in Luke 20:28, they said, "Moses wrote for us." In His reply the Lord confirms this view of who wrote the law. He says, "Have you not read in the book of Moses?"
The rule they quote is real, and its purpose was specific. It protected a dead man's name and land:
The law made a special provision for what is called a levirate marriage. If a man died childless, his surviving brother had to marry the widow. This preserved the dead man's share of the inheritance, so that his name would not be blotted out of Israel (Deuteronomy 25:5-6).
That provision was an act of mercy for life in this world. The Sadducees turned it into a joke:
In Israel, to be childless was a disgrace. For a man's name to be blotted out — for his family to die out — was seen as a special mark of God's displeasure. The Sadducees, in our Lord's day, might use this merciful provision to mock the truth of resurrection. But they only showed their ignorance of the Scriptures and the power of God. God made this provision for life on earth, not for the life to come.
Look at how the objection is made. It is an invented case, not a real one:
Here again, it was only a difficulty. The Sadducees were the unbelieving party. All the apparent strength of unbelief lies in raising difficulties, in inventing imaginary cases that do not apply, and in reasoning from the things of men to the things of God. The whole thing rests on a false assumption. The Lord says to them, "Is this not the reason you are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God?" As usual, they showed their ignorance of the Scriptures, despite all their big claims. Otherwise they would never have put such a case. Besides, their question assumed the resurrection — the very thing they denied.
They had built their case on the law of Moses. The Lord answered from the same place:
They had quoted from the law of Moses in support of their position. The Lord disproved their view from the law itself, quoting Exodus 3:6. How simply He turned the tables. In their eyes Deuteronomy 25:5 showed how foolish it was to expect a resurrection. Exodus 3:6 plainly implied one. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had died long before God spoke this way to Moses; yet He was still their God. So they did exist, for He is not the God of something that does not exist.
- Ignorance — unbelief looks strong when it raises imaginary cases that do not apply. It reasons from the things of men to the things of God.
- Misuse — the law they quoted was a merciful provision for life on earth. It kept a man's name and inheritance from being blotted out of Israel. It said nothing about the world to come.
- Testimony — in saying "Moses wrote for us," they bore witness that Moses wrote the law. The Lord's reply confirmed it.
- Answer — He replied from the law they had quoted. God calls Himself the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob long after they died, so those men still live to Him.
- Result — the case they thought no one could answer fell apart. Their own question assumed the resurrection they were trying to disprove.
There were then seven brethren and the first, having taken a wife, died childless;
A group called the Sadducees, who denied the resurrection, comes to Jesus with a story: one wife, seven brothers, no children. The verse is the opening move of a trap. The question behind it is simple: is life after death anything like life here?
Luke names this group only here. They were the materialists of their day, and they had mostly left Jesus alone until now.
This is the first and only time Luke mentions them in his Gospel... They were the materialists of their day. They denied the resurrection, and they denied that angels or spirits exist (Acts 23:8). They probably took little interest in His teaching. They seem to have been stirred into determined opposition only when the apostles were "proclaiming in Jesus the resurrection from the dead" (Acts 4:2). On this occasion the Pharisees had been silenced, and we may believe the Sadducees were not sorry to see their rivals beaten. So they came to the Lord with what we may call a test case. To their minds it settled that a resurrection was impossible.
The story is not random. It rests on a real provision in the law of Moses.
So they came to Him with a difficulty they claimed was based on the Word of God. In this way they made Holy Scripture a ground for disbelieving a truth that God's revelation puts beyond dispute. The law made a special provision for what is called a levirate marriage. If a man died childless, his surviving brother had to marry the widow. This kept the dead man's share of the inheritance and kept his name from being blotted out of Israel (Deut. 25:5-6).
Why seven brothers? One writer points out how few the puzzle actually needed.
They were determined to prove there is no resurrection, so they thought up a case that was very unlikely, to say the least... They imagine seven brothers who each married the same woman in turn, and then died. In the resurrection, they ask, which man would have her? Of course, if only two had married her, they could have asked the same question. But they wanted to make the truth of resurrection look as ridiculous as they could.
Their case only works if the relationships of this life carry on into the next. One writer shows what people do with God's word when it will not fit their ideas.
They present a case that would make the resurrection ridiculous and impossible — if what their folly imagined were true. For they assume that the relationships and conditions of this world carry on in the next. This is what people do. They mix their own thoughts in with God's word. Then, because those thoughts do not agree with it, they decide His word makes no sense and reject it.
There was no real problem here to solve. One writer asks where such difficulties come from.
In the resurrection state there will be no such relationships. The difficulty existed only for unbelief — or rather, unbelief made it. Indeed, what else can disbelief ever claim to do? It imagines difficulties, and nowhere more than with the most certain truth of God. The resurrection is the great truth on which everything turns. The Lord has shown it in its final form in His own person, now raised from the dead — though when He spoke, His rising was still just ahead.
Jesus does not untangle the puzzle. He removes the condition it depends on.
The Sadducees of that day, like many people in later ages, could imagine nothing different from what they had known. Here on earth marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, people must marry there too. Their conclusion was false... Death does not reign there. So marriage, which keeps the human race going on earth, has no place above... The test case that seemed to those Sadducees to settle the matter against a resurrection broke down at once. The condition it needs in order to hold will not exist.
Their trick question ends up uncovering something greater. One writer asks what it means to be counted worthy of the resurrection.
It was a quibble they raised to test the Lord... Now what does this mean — "considered worthy to attain to... the resurrection from the dead"? You see, it is counted a special favour. If you do get the resurrection from the dead, you will be "equal to angels." It cannot mean that people raised to be condemned are equal to the angels.
- Setup — They quote Moses on marriage law, and use Scripture to argue against what Scripture reveals.
- Sneer — Seven brothers, not two, because the aim was ridicule, not an answer.
- Assumption — Their case only stands if this world's relationships carry on in the next.
- Source — Unbelief did not find the difficulty. Unbelief made it, as it always does with God's clearest truth.
- Surprise — The condition their case needs will not exist. Death is gone there, and those raised are equal to the angels.
and the second [took the woman, and *he* died childless];
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
and the third took her and in like manner also the seven left no children and died;
The third brother here is one step in an argument, not a memory. Why did the Sadducees need seven brothers, and was the law they quoted ever about life after death?
The number seven does no real work in the argument. It is there for effect:
They imagine a case of seven brothers who die after each one in turn has had the same wife. In the resurrection, they ask, which man would have her? If only two had married her, they could have asked the same question. But they wanted to make the truth of resurrection look as ridiculous as they could.
Another writer doubts the case was ever real, and names what drove the question:
A case like the one the Sadducees describe may be possible. But it is unlikely that the case they put to Him was real. It was no doubt made up for the occasion. Ignorance, unbelief and sarcasm prompted this question.
Their case rests on a rule in the law:
The law made a special provision, called a levirate marriage. If a man died childless, his surviving brother had to marry the widow. This kept the dead man's share of the inheritance in the family, so his name would not be wiped out of Israel (Deut. 25:5-6).
The purpose of that law is also what makes their question collapse:
In Israel, to be childless was a disgrace, and for a man's name to be wiped out — his family dying out — was seen as a special mark of God's displeasure. The Sadducees, in our Lord's day, might try to ridicule the truth of resurrection by bringing in this merciful provision. But they only showed their ignorance of "the Scriptures and the power of God." God had made that provision for the earthly life, not the future one.
The Sadducees were a party that had largely left Jesus alone until now. What they denied explains why they asked this:
They believed only in the material world, denying the resurrection and the existence of angels or spirits (Acts 23:8). They very likely paid little attention to His teaching. They seem to have turned into determined opponents only when the Apostles "preached through Jesus the resurrection from the dead" (Acts 4:2).
Jesus did not argue with their story; He named what lay underneath it:
They did not know the Scriptures — that was ignorance. They did not know the power of God — that was unbelief. Their unbelieving error rested on these two pillars. Modern unbelief of the Sadducee kind rests on the same two pillars. Those who hold it misquote, misinterpret, or otherwise twist Scripture, again and again. And they think of God as anything but Almighty — as just a man, though with greater powers than ours.
The puzzle was never in the truth itself:
The difficulty existed only for unbelief — or rather, unbelief made it. What else can unbelief ever claim to do? It invents difficulties, and nowhere more than in the most certain truth of God.
Their whole case assumed that the next world would copy this one:
The Sadducees of that day, like many people in later ages, could imagine nothing different from what they had known. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, there must be marriages in heaven too. Their conclusion was wrong. Marriages do not take place among the saints in heaven... Death does not reign there, so marriage, which carries on the human race on earth, has no place in heaven.
The Lord's answer describes a different order of life altogether:
The Lord reveals the state of those who are raised, and shows how ignorant and foolish the reasoning of the Sadducees was. It is a high and holy state, where what is only earthly will have passed away for ever. Things God set up, and honoured here, will have passed away there.
- Invented — the seven brothers are a made-up case, not a remembered one. Two would have raised the same question, so the number is there only to make resurrection look ridiculous.
- Misapplied — the law they quote guarded a dead man's name and inheritance in Israel. God gave it for the earthly life, not the future one.
- Ignorant — two faults lie behind the misuse, and they still run together. One is not knowing the Scriptures. The other is not believing God has power beyond what we have seen.
- Imagined — the puzzle was never in the truth. Unbelief makes difficulties, and makes most of them where God's word is clearest.
- Answered — where no one dies, marriage has no work to do. Those who are raised belong to an order where what is only earthly has passed away for ever.
and last of all the woman also died.
In the story the Sadducees bring to Jesus, the woman buries seven husbands — and then she dies too. They built the story to sound airtight, so the question is where its reasoning breaks down.
The men behind this story rejected resurrection outright. One writer describes their outlook, their method, and what they missed:
The Sadducees were the materialists of that day. They stood for the unbelief of the flesh. One writer has rightly said, "The strength of unbelief lies in raising difficulties, in inventing imaginary cases which do not apply, and in reasoning from the things of men to the things of God." So here these wicked men try to oppose the truth by ridicule. They invent an imaginary case which they think shows that resurrection is absurd. As usual with unbelievers, they show gross ignorance of Scripture and they ignore the power of God. If Scripture had said that people marry in the resurrection state, their imaginary case might really have raised a difficulty. If God had no power, the resurrection itself would be impossible.
The story leans on a real command in the law of Moses. A man was to marry his childless brother's widow, so that the dead brother would have an heir. But the story itself looks made up:
In this matter people hardly kept the law in those days, and the teachers of this law had added all kinds of limits to it. A case like the one the Sadducees told could of course happen. But it is unlikely that they laid a real case before Him. They almost certainly made it up for the occasion. Ignorance, unbelief and sarcasm prompted this question.
The whole trap rests on one hidden assumption: that the next world runs on the same terms as this one.
They put forward a case that makes the resurrection look ridiculous and impossible — but only if you first grant the foolish thing they imagined. They assume that the relationships and conditions of this world carry on into the next. This is what people do. They mix their own thoughts into God's word, and because their thoughts do not fit it, they decide it makes no sense and reject it.
The difficulty, then, was never in the doctrine. Unbelief manufactured it — "it imagines difficulties, and nowhere so much as in the most certain truth of God" (William Kelly).
Their story repeats one thing and never questions it: everyone in it dies. Jesus takes hold of that. Where death ends, marriage has no purpose left.
The Sadducees of that day, like many people since, could imagine nothing different from what they had known. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, there must be marriages in heaven too. Their conclusion was false. Marriages do not take place among the saints in heaven. And the Lord gives a reason for that, which only Luke reports: "for they cannot die anymore." Death does not reign there. Marriage keeps the human race going on earth, so it has no place above. The test case, which those Sadducees thought settled the matter against resurrection, broke down at once. The condition it needs to be valid will not exist.
Jesus also speaks of people "considered worthy" of this resurrection. One writer reads that as a favour granted, not a sentence passed on everyone:
You see, it counts as a special favour. If you get the resurrection from the dead at all, you will be "equal to the angels." It cannot mean that people who rise to be condemned are equal to the angels.
Jesus then goes past their example to a bigger fact about death itself.
They have died as far as people are concerned, but as to God, wicked or saints, all live. This is not limited to saints; it is true of every person. Before, He had been speaking of the resurrection of the saints, and only of that resurrection. Now He declares that for God all live. He denies that death is the end of existence, and He does so absolutely and positively.
This pulls away their foundation, not just their example. As one writer puts it, the Lord "destroys the materialistic idea of death held by the Sadducees, the basis of their denial of resurrection." He proved it from the books of Moses, which "they acknowledged, but did not know" (F. W. Grant).
- Invented — The seven brothers were a made-up case, not a report. Ignorance, unbelief and sarcasm produced it.
- Imported — Its only force came from assuming the conditions of this world carry over into the next.
- Ended — Marriage continues the race on earth. Where no one can die, it has no place.
- Given — Jesus calls this resurrection a favour granted, not a fate imposed on everyone alike.
- Living — Death is not the end of existence. For God, saints and wicked alike all live.
In the resurrection therefore of which of them does she become wife, for the seven had her as wife?
The Sadducees denied resurrection. They bring Jesus a test case from Moses' own law: seven brothers, one wife, no children. So whose wife is she when the dead rise? Behind the puzzle lie two real questions. What does Scripture teach about the world to come? Can God raise the dead at all?
Their case rests on a real provision in the law of Moses.
The law made a special provision for what is called a levirate marriage. If a man died childless, his surviving brother had to marry the widow. This preserved the dead man's share of the inheritance, so that his name should not be blotted out of Israel (Deuteronomy 25:5-6). They claimed such a case had happened. Seven brothers, one after the other, had married the same woman, following this law. All had died without children. At last the woman died also.
That merciful law looked at life on earth. That is where their argument goes wrong.
In Israel, to be childless was a disgrace. For a man's name to be blotted out — for his family to die out — was taken as a special mark of God's displeasure. The Sadducees, in our Lord's day, might try to ridicule the truth of resurrection by bringing in this merciful provision, but they only showed their ignorance of the Scriptures and the power of God. God had made that provision for life on earth, not for the life to come.
Their method is still in use. Unbelief invents its difficulties rather than finding them.
The Sadducees were the materialists of that day, and represented the unbelief of the flesh. It has been well said: "The strength of unbelief lies in raising difficulties, in inventing imaginary cases that do not apply, in reasoning from the things of men to the things of God." So here these wicked men try to oppose the truth by ridicule. They invent a case which they think shows that resurrection is absurd… If Scripture had said that people marry in the resurrection state, their imaginary case might indeed have presented a difficulty. If God had no power, the resurrection itself would be impossible.
To ask whose wife she will be, they must first grant the resurrection they deny.
Their question also took the resurrection for granted, and that was the very thing they denied. Whose would this woman be, who had the seven husbands one after another? The answer is, she would belong to none of them then. No one takes up earthly ties again in the resurrection. People do not rise from the dead as husbands and wives, parents and children, masters or servants.
The reason Jesus gives removes the whole basis of their riddle.
The Sadducees of that day, like many a person in later ages, could imagine nothing different from what they had known. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, there must be marriages on high too. Their conclusion was false… And the Lord gives a reason for it, reported only by Luke: "they cannot die anymore." Death does not reign there. So marriage, which keeps the human race going on earth, has no place on high… The test case seemed final to those Sadducees against a resurrection, but it broke down at once.
His reply does more than settle a question about marriage. His wording points to a rising that is a favour, not a thing given to all.
They raised a quibble, testing the Lord… Now what does this mean — "considered worthy to attain to the resurrection from the dead"? You see, it is counted a special favour. If you do get the resurrection from the dead, you will be "equal to angels." This cannot mean that people raised to be condemned are equal to the angels.
They opened with Deuteronomy. He closed with Exodus — the same books they claimed to stand on.
They had quoted from the law of Moses in support of their position. The Lord answered their belief from the law, quoting Exodus 3:6… How simply He turned the tables. In their eyes, Deuteronomy 25:5 proved the folly of looking for a resurrection. Exodus 3:6 plainly implied a resurrection. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had died long before God spoke to Moses in this way; yet He was still their God. So they did exist, for He is not a God of those who do not exist… Where Scripture does not state a truth outright, it may still teach it by implication.
- Law: The seven-brother case rests on a real law. It kept a family's name and inheritance alive on earth. It says nothing about the life to come.
- Trap: The question is an invented case, built to make resurrection look absurd. It also assumes the very rising it denies.
- Ignorance: Unbelief argues from the things of men to the things of God. It shows up its ignorance of the Scriptures and of God's power.
- Answer: She will belong to none of them. No one takes up earthly ties again. Where no one can die, marriage has no purpose.
- Hope: Those considered worthy of that resurrection are equal to angels and sons of God. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is still their God after death.
And Jesus said to them, The sons of this world marry and are given in marriage,
A group who denied any resurrection came to Jesus with a riddle about a woman married to seven brothers in turn. He answered by drawing a line between two ages: marrying belongs to one side, and not everyone reaches the other.
Only Luke gives this name to people busy with everyday life.
Notice this in particular — Luke alone, of all the Gospel writers, here describes men, in the activities of this life, as "the children of this world," or age. They are persons who live merely for the present.
Such people are not fools. They plan ahead — but only for this life.
They look ahead, though only on the earth, for they have a keen sense of their best earthly interests. But it is different when it comes to the soul, to heaven, to Christ's love, to God's nature and will. Men tend to let the smallest present advantage blot out all right thought of the future.
Some translations read "world" here. The word means "age," and the Lord sets two ages side by side.
He contrasted "this world" and "that world," really using the word that means "age." Some will "obtain that age" as living men on earth, without passing through death and resurrection. But those who "obtain that age and the resurrection" will enter altogether new conditions of life. They will be deathless like the angels, and marriage will have no application to them.
One writer names the root of their error, then shows why the riddle falls apart.
Ignorance lay at the root of their opposition, as the Lord made clear to them: ignorance of the condition of people in the other world, and ignorance of the Scriptures of truth. The Sadducees of that day, like many people in later ages, could imagine nothing different from what they already knew. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, there must be marriages above too. Their reasoning was faulty. Marriages do not take place among the saints in heaven. And the Lord gives a reason for this, reported only by Luke: "neither can they die any more." Death does not reign there. Marriage keeps the human race going on earth, so it has no place above.
Do husbands and wives stay husbands and wives? One writer answers, and clears away a second mistake too.
There is not a line in Scripture to say that the relationships of earth will be continued in heaven. We shall not rise as husbands and wives, parents and children, masters and servants, but in this respect shall be as the angels. We shall not be angels, as some people wrongly imagine. We shall be like them in being free from earthly relationships. The believer will enjoy privileges and heavenly relationships far above those of angels, and far above the passing relationships of this present state.
That truth about the future is not an excuse for treating present ties lightly.
They are relationships in nature, formed on the earth and to be carried out in daily life. There will be no such relationships in heaven. They do not belong to the resurrection state. They belong to nature, to earth, to our time-condition. We are called to walk in them as Christian men, women and children. We are to glorify God in them by our spirit, our temper, our manner and our whole conduct, from hour to hour and day to day.
Not everyone reaches that age. One writer marks off who is in view, and why "worthy" is not a wage.
Marriage is only for this world. He was not speaking of those who die in their sins and rise for judgment at the Great White Throne. He spoke only of those accounted worthy — by grace through faith — to obtain "that world," the glory of heaven, and the resurrection from among the dead.
Another writer presses the wording itself. It cannot fit one single resurrection of everyone.
How could people be "counted worthy" to obtain a general resurrection which no one can lose? Or be the children of God as being the children of a general resurrection?
- This age. "Sons of this age" describes people who live merely for the present — shrewd about earth, short-sighted about God.
- That age. The word is "age": Jesus divides time in two, and marrying belongs to this side of the line.
- No death. Marriage keeps the human race going where death reigns; where they can die no more, it has no application.
- No merit. Being "accounted worthy" is by grace through faith — a special favour, not a wage earned.
- Meanwhile. Earthly ties end at the resurrection, yet they are ours to honour now, day by day, as the place where we glorify Him.
but they who are counted worthy to have part in that world, and the resurrection from among [the] dead, neither marry nor are given in marriage;
The Sadducees came to Jesus with a riddle about a woman married to seven brothers. His answer reaches far past their puzzle. He splits people into two groups: those who belong to this present age, and those who will reach the next one. Three phrases carry the weight — "that age," "the resurrection from the dead," and "worthy."
Their trap only worked if life after death is life as they already knew it. One writer traces their error to a failure of imagination.
The Sadducees of that day, like many a person in later ages, could conceive of nothing different from what they had known. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, marriages must also be contracted on high. Their conclusion was faulty.
Older translations read "that world" where the ESV reads "that age." The word does not mean the planet. It points to a coming period of time with its own character.
"They who shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world and the resurrection from the dead." This would be an extraordinary expression if all rose at the same time. "They that shall be counted worthy to obtain that age" — that last word does not mean the material world. It means a special dispensation or age, which the unworthy do not obtain.
Marriage fits one age and not the other. And some will reach the coming age without dying at all.
He contrasted "this world" and "that world," using the word which means "age." Some will "obtain that age" as living people on earth, without passing through death and resurrection. But those who "obtain that age and the resurrection" will enter completely new conditions of life. They will be deathless as the angels, and marriage will not apply to them.
Why does marriage end there? Another writer follows the reason the Lord gives.
Marriages do not take place among the saints in heaven. And the Lord gives a reason for that, reported only by Luke: they cannot die any more. Death does not reign there. So marriage, by which the human race is continued on earth, has no place above.
Something no one can lose cannot be an honour.
How could people be "counted worthy" to obtain a general resurrection which no one can lose? Or be the children of God because they are children of a general resurrection?
The word "worthy" does not put the reader back on his own record. One writer ties it to grace received, not merit earned.
Marriage is only for this world. He was not speaking of those who die in their sins and will rise for judgment at the Great White Throne. He spoke only of those counted worthy — by grace through faith — to obtain "that world," the glory of heaven, and the resurrection from among the dead.
The phrase here is not simply "resurrection of the dead." Jesus' first followers noticed that difference too.
[The disciples] clearly distinguished between the resurrection of the dead, and the rising from among the dead ones. It implied that some of the dead would rise, while others still remained in their graves. It was a rising from among the dead ones… Notice that this speaks only of those who will be counted worthy to obtain the resurrection from among the dead ones. I call particular attention to this. It at once sets aside the idea of a general resurrection of the saved and lost.
What happened at the empty tomb sets the shape of it.
The resurrection of Christ was not merely a resurrection of the dead, but out of the dead. He left them undisturbed in their tombs… And it is the same with the saints in principle. Theirs is to be a resurrection from among the dead. The rest of the dead must rise at another time.
The verse is not left as a debating point. One writer turns it straight on the reader.
Is this not a resurrection of great privilege? Will everyone rise together, equal to the angels, the children of God?… Do not rest until you know that this privilege is yours.
- This age — marriage, and the family line it continues, belong to the world we live in now. The Sadducees assumed the next age must copy this one.
- That age — the word is not "planet" but "age": a coming era with its own conditions, which the unworthy do not obtain.
- Worthy — no one is "counted worthy" of what everyone receives anyway. The word marks out a group.
- By grace — that worthiness is grace through faith, not earned merit. No believer need read the verse with dread.
- From among — this resurrection lifts some out from among the dead and leaves the rest. Settle that hope for yourself before you need it.
for neither can they die any more, for they are equal to angels, and are sons of God, being sons of the resurrection.
The Sadducees denied the resurrection. They put a trick question to Jesus. A woman married seven brothers in turn, so whose wife will she be? His reply does more than dismiss the puzzle. It describes what the risen are like, and why marriage has no place among them.
The Sadducees assumed that any future life must copy this one. One writer points out that only Luke records the reason Jesus gave.
The Sadducees of that day could imagine nothing different from what they had known, and so could many people in later ages. Here marriages take place. So in their thinking, if there was a resurrection, there must be marriages in heaven too. Their conclusion was false. Marriages do not take place among the saints in heaven. And the Lord gives a reason for that, reported, as we find, only by Luke: "for they cannot die anymore." Death does not reign there. So marriage, which keeps the human race going on earth, has no place on high.
The comparison with angels is narrow and exact. It is about death. Some object that God alone has immortality, and one writer answers them.
Even those who misuse the text do not deny that the angels are immortal. Our Lord has certainly stated that this is their condition. The risen saints will be like them in this respect. "They cannot die anymore, because they are equal to angels" (Luke 20:36). So God alone having immortality is perfectly consistent with the immortality of angels.
Another writer sees the likeness reaching to the limits of the body itself:
They are equal to the angels: above the conditions of the body in this present life.
Being equal to angels does not mean becoming one. The verse gives the raised a second title, and it marks a relationship angels never hold.
Such people will then rise from among the great mass of the dead, and God will make them equal in condition to the angels. Our calling is higher, for we are children and sons, while angels are only servants. Our condition until the Lord's coming is lower, but He will change that then by His mighty power.
Luke has used this form of words before.
"Sons of the resurrection." This is a Hebrew way of speaking that we have already met. Compare "sons of the bride-chamber" (Luke 5:34), "sons of peace" (Luke 10:6), and "sons of this age" (Luke 16:8).
Another writer joins the two titles, and notes one thing the likeness to angels involves:
Believers are like the angels, who are neither male nor female, as we are told about the new creation (Galatians 3:27-28). They are sons of God. That relationship and dignity stands higher than every natural tie. They are sons of the resurrection — brought into a world that human thinking on its own has never reached.
Not everyone rises for the same reason. One writer marks off the resurrection in this verse from the raising of the wicked.
The wicked will rise to be judged. The others will rise because they have been accounted worthy to obtain the resurrection which Jesus has obtained. This passage proves a resurrection which concerns the children of God alone. They are the sons of God, being the sons of the resurrection. To be a son of God, and to have part in this resurrection, is the title and inheritance of the same persons.
The words "accounted worthy" could sound like something earned. One writer says the opposite:
We must be "accounted worthy" to have part in this resurrection. It is not one that nobody can miss. Grace gives each person his place in it.
The death that follows judgment has no claim on them either.
The terms "first resurrection" and "second death" are opposites. All who have no part in the one will certainly share in the other. The second death is the lake of fire. Into it the raised wicked dead are cast. But this dreadful death — dying, yet never dead in body — has no claim and no authority over those in the first resurrection. They "cannot die anymore." Their bodies are immortal. They can no more die than can angels (Luke 20:36).
- Deathless — marriage ends because dying ends. A world with no death needs no way to carry on the human race.
- Like angels — the likeness is about condition, not nature. God gives them immortality and lifts them above the limits of the body.
- Sons of God — angels are servants, so this title of relationship is never theirs. It stands higher than every natural tie.
- Sons of the resurrection — a Hebrew way of speaking. They belong to a new world, one human thinking has never reached on its own.
- Counted worthy — grace, not effort, gives a place in this resurrection. Those who have it are past the reach of the second death.
But that the dead rise, even Moses shewed in [the section of] the bush, when he called [the] Lord the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob;
The Sadducees denied any resurrection, and had just mocked the idea with a story of one woman married to seven brothers. Jesus answers them from Moses, not the prophets — from the passage where God speaks out of the bush.
The Lord could have quoted many clearer statements about the dead rising. Instead He chose a text His opponents could not wave away, since they honoured the books of Moses above all.
The Lord does not quote the clearest Scripture about the resurrection. In the circumstances He does something much better: He appeals to what they themselves claimed to respect most of all. For the Sadducee no part of Scripture carried the authority of the five books of Moses. So from Moses He proved the resurrection, and in the simplest possible way.
The phrase sounds odd today. It is how people pointed to a place in Scripture before chapters and verses existed.
In those days the books were not divided into chapters and verses as they are now, and this explains several expressions. In Mark 2:26 a quotation comes from "the section of Abiathar the high priest" (1 Samuel 21:1-6). In Luke 20:37, "Moses showed in the section on the bush" (Exodus 3).
The verse names Moses as the one who showed this. Matthew's record of the same reply names God as the speaker.
So in Luke we read, in the same connection, "But that the dead are raised, even Moses showed, in the passage about the bush, where he calls the Lord the God of Abraham" (Luke 20:37). This shows beyond doubt that the human author was Moses. The parallel passage in Matthew 22:31 adds a word about the divine inspiration of the same words: "Have you not read what was said to you by God, 'I am the God of Abraham'".
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob had been dead for centuries when God spoke at the bush. Yet He did not say He was their God; He named Himself by them in the present.
If Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had ceased to exist, could God still have taken their names — the name of nothing — to describe Himself to Israel? He might have said, "I am He who was with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, when they existed." Even that would have been a completely unworthy relationship — the God of men who had no more than an animal existence. God describes Himself by them, and is not ashamed to be called their God. Could He describe Himself by a mere dying animal — by men who, at the moment He calls Himself their God, did not exist at all?
Someone might agree that these three men still live, and stop there. But the argument goes further, because a person is more than a spirit.
Further, though they were dead, their body was an essential part of who they were, for man is made of three parts: spirit, soul, and body. So the body must rise again. Abraham could not be complete without his body. The spirit of Abraham is one thing; the body of Abraham is another. But if we speak of Abraham, we speak of one to whom spirit, soul, and body all belong.
There is a second reason the grave cannot be the end for these three men. God had bound Himself to them by promises still unpaid.
Though dead to this scene, they still live and will rise again to enjoy the promises of God, which, sin having come in, can only be fulfilled on resurrection ground.
Exodus 3 never uses the word resurrection. That is part of the lesson.
In this way Exodus 3:6 taught by implication the very truth the Sadducees denied. From the Lord's use of it we learn this: where a truth is not stated outright, something may still teach it by implication. So we need to weigh the statements of God's Word carefully.
- Text — Jesus answers unbelief from the books His challengers honoured most. He proves the resurrection from Moses, not the prophets.
- Tense — the whole argument hangs on "I am": God names Himself by men long buried, and He is not the God of nothing.
- Person — a man is spirit, soul and body. Abraham without his body is Abraham incomplete, so his body must rise.
- Promise — God made promises to these three men that were never kept in their lifetimes. Only resurrection ground can pay them, so denying the resurrection denies God's faithfulness.
- Method — a truth can be taught by implication as clearly as by direct statement. So weigh every word of Scripture.
but he is not God of [the] dead but of [the] living; for all live for him.
The Sadducees denied any resurrection, and they mocked the idea with a story about one woman and seven husbands. Jesus answered them from the burning bush, where God calls Himself the God of three men long dead.
Everything turns on the tense of one verb, spoken long after Abraham, Isaac and Jacob had died.
When did God say that? Centuries after those men were buried. And He said it through Moses. He did not say, "I was the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob." That destroys the false idea that the dead have no consciousness, or that they stop existing until the body is raised. God is not the God of the dead but the living. If they had stopped existing for a time, He would have said, "I was their God." If He were looking ahead to the resurrection, He would have said, "I shall be." He said neither.
The force of "not God of the dead" depends on what His opponents meant by the word. For them, to be dead was to be gone.
"God is not the God of the dead [utterly and eternally perished, which was the sense in which the Sadducees used it, with whom He was disputing] but of the living."
If they had truly vanished, God could not still speak of Himself as standing in a relationship with them.
God says at the bush, "I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob." But if He stood in that relationship to them then, they must exist for Him to be so. He could not be the God of the dead — dead in the Sadducee sense, meaning non-existent. They must be alive in some sense, alive to Him, and so they are.
God spoke those words while sending Moses to rescue a nation.
God sent Moses out from "the bush" to be their deliverer. He sent him under that title, "the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob," as the "I am" who had looked on His people and cared for them. The teaching of the Sadducees could never have been the good news of that deliverance, nor its inspiration. A living God in covenant with men meant life, not death; and if death was there, then a life supreme over it. So resurrection was the necessary filling out of such a declaration. The hand God held out to man was not to clasp the limp fingers of a corpse.
Up to this point the Lord had spoken only of the resurrection of the saints. The last clause suddenly widens.
Then He says that even Moses showed this at the bush: God is not "a God of the dead but of the living." Then He lays the foundation of an absolute fact He had not spoken of before at all: "For all live to Him." They have died as far as men are concerned. But as to God, wicked or saints, all live. Before this He had been speaking of the resurrection of the saints, and only of that. Now He declares that for God all live. He denies that death is the end of existence, and He does it in an absolute and positive way.
Two truths stand together here, and they answered a question that troubled Gentiles — the nations outside Israel.
Not only is God not the God of the dead, but of the living; "all live to Him" (verse 38). Two great truths are present here — living to God after death, and future resurrection, when Jesus comes and brings in the new age. This was especially valuable for Gentiles. One of the great problems for them was whether the soul existed after death, let alone the resurrection of the body.
So the argument does not stop with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.
Luke now adds a few words of universal importance, which deeply concern all men: "For all live to Him." Dead to us here, they live to God. So death does not end any man's existence. This refers of course to all the dead, and therefore concerns all the living.
- Tense — God said "I am" the God of Abraham, not "I was" and not "I shall be." Those men were long buried, so the present tense settles the question.
- Relationship — God cannot hold a living relationship with people who no longer exist. If He is still their God, they still are.
- Covenant — a living God who binds Himself to men means life, and resurrection completes that promise. He did not hold out His hand to clasp a corpse.
- Reach — the last clause moves past the saints He had been describing. For God all live, righteous and wicked alike, and death ends no one's existence.
- Result — Luke's added words give two certainties: life with God after death, and resurrection when Jesus brings in the coming age. What is true of the dead concerns every living reader.
And some of the scribes answering said, Teacher, thou hast well spoken.
The Sadducees rejected resurrection. They had just tried to make it look absurd with a story about one woman and seven husbands. The Lord answered them from the books of Moses. Now a different group speaks: scribes, teachers of the law, and not Sadducees themselves. Their words raise two questions — what is such praise worth, and why does the questioning stop here?
Each Gospel records a different reaction to the same answer. Luke gives the one that came from the religious teachers themselves.
Meanwhile the Sadducees were silenced. No Gospel writer records what they felt when they received the Lord's reply. Matthew tells us the effect on the crowd (22:33): "they were astonished at his teaching." Mark (12:28) hints at the impression made on one of the scribes. Luke records what some of them said, and leaves us in no doubt about their judgment of it: "Teacher, you have spoken well" (20:39). The Lord had met both the Pharisees and the Sadducees on their own chosen ground, and He defeated both. "They no longer dared," writes Luke, "to ask him any question" (20:40). Now He was free to question them.
The Lord chose His proof text with care. He went to the part of Scripture the Sadducees held highest.
The Lord does not quote the clearest Scripture about the resurrection. In the circumstances He does something much better. He appeals to what they themselves claimed to revere most. To the Sadducee no part of Scripture carried such authority as the five books of Moses. So from Moses He proved the resurrection, and in the simplest possible way. Everyone — their own conscience — must admit that God is the God, not of the dead, but of the living.
Another writer names the exact text the Lord used.
The Lord went on to prove the resurrection from Exodus 3:6. If the patriarchs were alive to God centuries after they were dead to this world, their final resurrection was a certainty. So He answered not only the foolish question of the Sadducees, but the unbelief behind the question.
The scribes called the reply a good answer. It was more than that.
In this case a vital, basic truth is in question. By the wisdom of His answer the Lord reduces His enemies to silence and exposes their hypocrisy. But He does more: He clearly reveals the truth itself, which the Old Testament teaches in a hidden way, and gives it His own authority.
Luke's account of the reply carries truths the other Gospels leave out.
Our Gospel, it is worth noticing here, gives several distinct truths beyond what is found in Matthew and Mark. Resurrection from among the dead (not resurrection in general) has its own proper age. It is a time of special blessedness, which the resurrection of the unjust cannot be called... The resurrection from among the dead is for the righteous, who die no more. They are equal to angels and sons of God, being sons of the resurrection... God is Abraham's God and will raise the dead to enjoy the promises not yet fulfilled. He is not God of dead men but of living, for to Him all live, even before the resurrection comes as well as when it does come. So Luke, more than the other Gospel writers, gives us a full glimpse of the state of the dead before resurrection. He gives the certainty of resurrection and glory too.
Their praise went no further than praise.
Some of the scribes (but probably not the Sadducees) could not help admiring the wisdom of the Lord's words, but all were silenced. Then the Lord asked a question far more important than the ones they had asked Him. They could not answer it, though they should have known it from their Old Testament Scriptures. Why did the scribes say that Christ, the Messiah, was David's son, when David himself in Psalm 110:1 plainly called the Messiah "Lord"? (v. 41). There could be no doubt about how that Scripture applied. The scribes could not dispute it, yet they had no reply.
Silencing them was never the whole object.
By His question the Lord gave the key to what so many had not understood — but in vain. We read of no one convinced by it... He had truly silenced those who opposed Him, yet He did more than silence them. Many a debater has been utterly crushed by a spirited reply or a clever retort. The Lord's object was, while silencing all, to help everyone who really wanted help.
- Question. The Sadducees aimed their story at the resurrection of the body. The Lord met them on ground they had chosen.
- Proof. He argued from the books of Moses, which they revered most. God calls Himself the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob — and He is God of the living.
- Praise. Even the scribes, who were not Sadducees, admitted the answer was right: "you have spoken well."
- Silence. Both parties were beaten, and no one dared question Him again. But silence and admiration are not faith.
- Question again. With every mouth stopped, the Lord asked His own question about David's Lord and David's son. The men who had just praised Him had nothing to say.
For they did not dare any more to ask him anything.
Luke 20 records a running battle in the temple, where one group after another tries to trap Jesus with a question. Verse 40 gives the result: the questions stop — but why, and what does that silence say about them?
The chapter brings one opponent after another, each with a different weapon. One writer walks through the whole sequence:
Then in Luke 20 come the various parties to judge Him, really to be judged themselves. The chief priests and the scribes with the elders demand His authority... Next, we have His reply to the spies who wanted to trap Him with the civil authorities... The unorthodox Sadducees came next with their problem about the resurrection. He showed that there was nothing in it but their ignorance of how glorious the resurrection is — something present experience gives no hint of.
The final trap came from the Sadducees, a party that denied resurrection. Jesus answered them from one verse in Exodus, and that answer did two things at once:
The Lord proceeded to prove the resurrection from Exodus 3:6. If the patriarchs were alive to God, centuries after they were dead to this world, their resurrection at the end was certain. So He answered not only the foolish question of the Sadducees, but the unbelief behind it. And He answered with such authority that even a scribe admired and approved what He said, and they were all afraid to ask Him any more questions.
Each party chose the ground, and each lost on it. Pharisees and Sadducees alike were left with nothing to say, and verse 40 hands the next move to Jesus:
Meanwhile the Lord had silenced the Sadducees. No gospel writer records what they felt when they heard His reply... He had met both the Pharisees and the Sadducees on their own chosen ground, and He had defeated them. As Luke writes, "they no longer dared to ask Him any question" (20:40). Now then He was free to question them.
It would be easy to read the hush as surrender. It was not. Their mouths closed, but their hearts stayed shut:
The Lord then asked them His great question, based on Psalm 110. No answer was possible except to the faith that saw the divine glory of the Christ, and they had no faith. They were silent in stubborn unbelief. Answer His question they could not; ask Him any further question they dared not.
They stopped asking, and so missed what His answer had opened up. Luke's account holds teaching the other Gospels do not, and it reaches past the grave:
Resurrection from among the dead (not resurrection in general) has its own age, a time of special blessedness... That resurrection is for the righteous, who die no more. They are equal to angels and sons of God, sons of the resurrection... God is Abraham's God, and He will raise the dead to enjoy the promises not yet fulfilled. He is not the God of dead men but of living men. To Him all live — before the resurrection comes as well as when it does come. So Luke, more than any other Gospel writer, gives us a full glimpse of the state of those who have died, as well as the certainty of resurrection and glory.
With the questions over, Jesus raises the subject that matters most — who He is, and the place He is about to take:
Near the end of the chapter (v. 39-44) our Lord raises the great question of His own person. He also raises the question of the place He was about to take — not on the throne of David, but on the throne of God. Did not David acknowledge Him — David's own Son — as his Lord? On the person and position of Christ depends the whole of Christianity.
- Questioned. Every party came to test Jesus, and each one left as the one judged.
- Answered. He met the Sadducees in Exodus 3:6, and answered both their question and the unbelief under it.
- Opened. His answer showed what they never thought to ask: an age of resurrection where the righteous die no more, and a God to whom all live.
- Silenced. The hush of verse 40 was defeat, not faith. They could not answer and dared not ask, silent in stubborn unbelief.
- Questioned again. Now He asks the question that decides everything: how is David's Son also David's Lord?
And he said to them, How do they say that the Christ is David's son,
The teachers of Israel had run out of questions, so Jesus asked one of His own, drawn from Psalm 110. It looks like a puzzle about family trees. In fact it asks who He is. How can the same person be both David's descendant and the one David calls "my Lord."
Every group had tried to trap Him and failed.
They are silenced — Pharisees, Herodians, Sadducees, all the leaders of the unhappy people. Then He turns on them with a question that reaches the bottom of the whole controversy: the question of His Person, of the true glory of Christ. Was He merely David's Son? Why then did David, speaking by the Spirit, call Him "Lord," saying, "The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand until I make your enemies the footstool of your feet"? How could He be his Son and yet his Lord? No one could give an answer that did not admit His higher nature.
The scribes were right that the Messiah would come from David's line. Their problem was that they stopped there, though their own Scriptures said more.
The Lord now asked a question far more important than the ones they had asked Him. They could not answer it, though they should have known it from their Old Testament Scriptures. Why did the scribes say the Messiah was David's son, when David himself called the Messiah "Lord" in Psalm 110:1? No one could doubt how that Scripture applied. The scribes could not dispute it, yet they had no answer.
Everything in the Christian faith rests on the answer to this question.
There is and could be but one answer. The Messiah, David's son, must have been a Divine Person to be David's Lord. This is the everlasting puzzle of unbelief, and now as then it is the stumbling-stone to the Jew... Without the Godhead of Jesus, true man though He is, Christianity is a delusion, a fraud, and an impossibility. Without it, Judaism too was meaningless child's play.
Both titles are true at once. Each names a different glory in the same person.
The fact is that both are true: He is not only "the Offspring of David" — David's Descendant — but "the root of David" (Rev. 22:16). As Man He is David's son, but as God He is David's Lord. Though as Man He came from David, yet since He is God over all, it is just as true that David came from Him... Many today repeat this same tragic ignorance, even people who claim to be Christian. They admit that Jesus was a great man. But they forget — and often flatly deny — that He is God manifest in flesh.
The psalm Jesus quotes does not seat the Messiah on a throne in Jerusalem. It seats Him higher.
Towards the end of the chapter our Lord raises the great question of His own person, and of the position He was about to take. It was not the throne of David, but the throne of God. On the person and position of Christ depends the whole of Christianity. Judaism, lowering the person, does not see the position, or denies it... He who humbled Himself as man in suffering is exalted as man to the glory of God on high.
His seat at God's right hand is a seat of waiting. That waiting brings both comfort and warning.
Is it not a sad and terrible thing that you have sent the Lord to the right hand of His Father, to wait there till His enemies are made His footstool? You will say, "He has gone there to help me, a poor sinner." Yes, but you have sent Him there too. You see Him waiting for the need of poor sinners. He is also waiting till He comes out to judge His enemies at the end of the world. Miss that, and your view is very imperfect.
The Pharisees had no answer. Neither title can be given up.
In this title divine and human glories unite. Jesus is David's Lord and David's Son. And this is the great test for every man, for no one has a right to the name of Christian who denies either one or the other... They were speechless and had no answer to this great mystery. It is a mystery to us also, for we cannot explain it. But what we cannot explain we can believe.
- The question — Jesus silences every questioner. Then He asks the one that reaches the bottom of it all: whose Son is the Christ?
- The Person — No answer works that does not admit His higher nature; He must be a divine Person to be David's Lord.
- The two glories — As Man He is David's son; as God He is David's Lord, so that David came from Him.
- The position — Psalm 110 seats Him not on David's throne but on God's, exalted as Man to the glory of God on high.
- The test — Deny either title and you fail the test the Pharisees failed. Faith believes the mystery it cannot explain.
and David himself says in the book of Psalms, The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand
Cornered by hostile questioners, Jesus stops answering and asks His own question, quoting the opening line of Psalm 110. Two questions follow: who wrote that psalm, and how can one man be both David's son and David's Lord?
His critics have run out of questions. Now it is His turn, and His question is about Himself.
It was now the Lord's turn to propose His question in order to bring out His own position. He asks the Pharisees to square the title Son of David with the title Lord, which David himself gave Him. And He ties this to the ascension of this same Christ, who goes up to sit at the right hand of God until God has made all His enemies His footstool and has established His throne in Zion. Now this was the whole of Christ's position at that moment. They were unable to answer Him, and no man dared ask Him any more questions. To understand that Psalm would have been to understand all God's ways with His Son — at the very moment they were going to reject Him.
Luke records that Jesus named the author and the book. That settles two questions at once: who composed Psalm 110, and where its words came from.
The Lord Himself said that David wrote Psalm 110. He claimed inspiration for it when He said, "David himself said by the Holy Spirit" (Mark 12:36). In the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and in the Acts of the Apostles, we get the affirmation that David wrote this Psalm.
Jesus points to a whole collection, not one stray song. That collection has God's hand on it.
God gave the whole collection its title, "The Book of Psalms" (Luke 20:42). He also had them numbered for easier reference, as "the Second Psalm" (Acts 13:33). The Psalms are inspired, and their arrangement is Divine.
The line has two "Lords" in it, and they are not the same person. The psalm's own printing gives the clue.
In the opening words of this psalm, the first "LORD" is in capital letters. When it is printed that way, it usually means Jehovah. So the verse could read, "Jehovah said to my Lord" — that is, Jehovah said to Christ… How could Jesus be both David's Son, and David's Lord? The answer is simple enough. As David's Lord, He was the Creator of David, for God created all things by His Son. But He was born of Mary, who came from the house and family line of David, so He was David's Son.
Only one answer fits both titles, and unbelief has always refused it.
There is and could be but one answer. The Messiah, David's son, must have been a Divine Person to be David's Lord. This is the never-ending puzzle of unbelief, and then as now it is the stumbling block for the Jew… Without the Godhead of Jesus, real man though He is, Christianity is a delusion, a fraud, and an impossibility.
The psalm points to a throne, but not the one His hearers were expecting for a son of David.
Toward the end of the chapter our Lord raises the great question of who He is. He also raises the position He was about to take — not on the throne of David, but on the throne of God… He humbled Himself as man in suffering, and as man He is exalted to the glory of God on high.
That seat is also a crowning, and it follows the cross.
This first verse announces the coronation of Jesus, after He had accomplished redemption and risen from the dead… Jehovah righteously welcomes Him as the Conqueror of all our enemies, the One who triumphed over death, Satan, and the grave, and installs Him in the highest place of honour, power, and glory.
The word "until" marks off a stretch of time. That time is not empty.
And the Lord Jesus Christ, rejected by man, is sitting at God's right hand as Man, waiting until His enemies are made His footstool. Meanwhile patient grace is at work, calling sinners to know the salvation He has accomplished.
- Author — Jesus names David and the Book of Psalms. The words came by the Holy Spirit, and God shaped the collection itself.
- Address — Jehovah is speaking to Christ. Capitals mark the first "LORD" as Jehovah, and the second is David's own Master.
- Answer — Born of Mary of David's line, He is David's Son; as Creator of David, He is David's Lord — a person who is God and man.
- Ascent — The throne here is not David's yet but God's: a coronation for the Man who first humbled Himself.
- Awaiting — The word "until" sets a limit. He waits, and meanwhile grace calls sinners, before His enemies go under His feet.
until I put thine enemies [as] footstool of thy feet?
Jesus has answered every trap set for Him. Now He asks His own question: how can the Messiah be both David's son and David's Lord? To settle it He quotes the opening words of Psalm 110. They speak of a seat at God's right hand, and of a wait that ends when God puts His enemies under His feet.
The puzzle has one answer, and everything in Christianity stands or falls with it.
There is and could be but one answer. The Messiah, David's son, must have been a Divine Person in order to be David's Lord — the endless riddle of unbelief, now as then the stumbling-stone to the Jew. Yet the Old Testament presents it as surely as the New does, if not as clearly or as often. It is essential to His proper dignity. It increases the grace of God beyond measure. And it is needed if there is to be an unbreakable rock of salvation, whether for an Israelite or for anyone else. Without the Godhead of Jesus — however truly man He is — Christianity is a delusion, a fraud, and an impossibility.
The seat named in the verse is not David's throne.
Towards the end of the chapter (v. 39-44) our Lord puts the great question of His own person, and of the position He was just about to take. That position was not on the throne of David, but on the throne of God. Was not He Himself, David's Son, owned as his Lord by David? The whole of Christianity depends on the person and position of Christ. Judaism lowers the person, and so does not see the position, or denies it. Christianity rests not on the work only, but on the glory of the person and place of Him who is glorified in God. He takes that place as man.
The place at God's right hand came at the end of a road that went all the way down.
In the last Adam we have Him who was God humbling Himself, going down, becoming obedient to death — even the vilest death. Then we see that humbled One going back to the place of power at God's right hand, but as man as well as God. God highly exalted Him, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow. He obeyed all through, in humiliation, and God exalts Him to be David's Lord. This took Him out of the line of Jewish promises, though of course as David's Son He had them.
One small word puts a time limit on that seat.
Now He speaks to Him in resurrection, saying, "Sit at My right hand, until I make Your enemies Your footstool." Jehovah acknowledges Him as Lord and places Him at His right hand. But it is "until…" There is a prospect before Him. So the seat He takes, exalted as it is, holds only for a time — until that prospect becomes fact. The day of His poverty is over. The day of His patience is begun.
Some take the subduing of enemies to mean the world is slowly won over. The wording of the verse rules that out.
This means the rule of power, not of love — enemies conquered, not enemies reconciled… "When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, He sat down at the right hand of God, waiting from that time until His enemies should be made a footstool for His feet." These are quotations from Psalm 110. Taken together, they show Jesus undergoing death, then seated at God's right hand. There He waits for the time when God will put all things under His feet and make His enemies His footstool. The first of these expressions might perhaps mean gradual reconciliation. The second cannot possibly mean it. No language could state forcible conquest more strongly.
The verse also raises a personal question: who sent Him to that seat?
Is it not a sad and terrible thing that you have sent the Lord to the right hand of His Father, there to wait until His enemies are made His footstool? You will say, "He has gone there to help me, a poor sinner." Yes, but you have sent Him there too. You may see Him waiting on the need of poor sinners. But if you do not also see Him waiting until He comes out to judge His enemies at the end of the world, your view is very incomplete. His grace has put Him there as the High Priest of our confession; our enmity has put Him there as waiting for judgment.
- Person. The riddle Jesus set has one answer: David's son had to be a divine Person to be David's Lord.
- Place. Rejected on earth, He took the seat God named for Him — not David's throne yet, but God's right hand.
- Path. God raised Him to that place as the man who went down first, obedient all the way to death.
- Pause. "Until" makes the seat temporary. The day of His poverty is over; the day of His patience runs on.
- Prospect. "Footstool" means conquest, not persuasion. God will put His enemies under His feet — yet grace still holds the door open to those who put Him there.
David therefore calls him Lord, and how is he his son?
Jesus has just silenced the men who came to trap Him. Now He asks a question of His own, drawn from a psalm of David. It is simple to state and impossible to answer without faith: how can one man be both David's descendant and David's Lord?
The psalm Jesus quotes uses two different words for "Lord." One commentator explains the difference and the answer it points to:
In the opening words of this psalm, the first "LORD" is in capital letters. Printed that way, it usually means Jehovah. So we can read the verse as, "Jehovah said to my Lord" — that is, Jehovah said to Christ… How could Jesus be both David's Son and David's Lord? The answer is simple enough. As David's Lord, He was the Creator of David, for God created all things by His Son. But He was born of Mary, who came from the house and family of David, so He was David's Son.
No one answered Him. The reason lay in the hearers, not in the question:
The Lord then asked them His great question, based on Psalm 110… Only faith could answer — faith that saw the divine glory of the Christ. They had no faith. They were silent in stubborn unbelief. They could not answer His question, and they dared not ask Him any more.
The question can sound as though Jesus is denying that the Christ is David's son. He is not; He is adding to it:
At first the Lord's words seem to set aside that the Christ is David's Son. Yet we can plainly see this is not so. His question about His personal glory is meant to awaken deeper, higher, greater thoughts… If He is David's Lord, He is his Son too. If He is the Root of David, He is also his Offspring (Rev. 22:16)… The One who is both his Son and his Lord secures the sure mercies God promised in David's line.
The psalm He quotes points to where He was going — and it is not the throne His ancestor held:
Toward the end of the chapter (vv. 39-44) our Lord raises the great question of His own person, and of the position He was about to take. It was not the throne of David, but the throne of God. Was not He Himself, David's Son, owned as his Lord by David? The whole of Christianity depends on the person and position of Christ… He humbled Himself as man in suffering. As man He is exalted to the glory of God on high.
The psalm seats Him at God's right hand — and He waits there until His enemies are made His footstool. That word turns the question back on the hearer:
He put a question that baffles them: "David thus calls Him Lord, so how is He his son?" They were baffled. No one can answer that question without seeing the Person of Christ, the precious mystery of the God-man. Is it not a sad and terrible thing that you have sent the Lord to the right hand of His Father? He waits there until His enemies are made His footstool. You will say, "He has gone there to help me, a poor sinner." Yes, but you have sent Him there too.
This is not a puzzle for specialists. The worth of what Christ did for sinners rests on who He is:
To the believer no truth is simpler, and none more precious. The Christ is a man yet God, son of David yet David's Lord, the root and the offspring of David. He came to die, yet He is the living and eternal God. The grace of His humiliation hangs on the dignity of His own person. So does the value of His atonement, and the glory brought to God by the kingdom He will take and display as Son of Man.
- Question. Jesus takes David's own psalm and asks how David's descendant can be the one David calls his Lord. None of His questioners could answer.
- Person. The only answer is the one they refused. As David's Lord He is David's Creator; as born of Mary He is David's Son.
- Both. The titles are not rivals. He is Root and Offspring at once. The One who is both David's Son and David's Lord secures the mercies God promised in David's line.
- Position. The psalm points to the seat He was about to take — not David's throne, but God's right hand. He humbled Himself as man, and as man He is exalted.
- Response. He sits there until His enemies are made His footstool. He waits now to help poor sinners. His question still asks every hearer which side of that "until" they stand on.
And, as all the people were listening, he said to his disciples,
In the temple, every group that came to trap Jesus has just failed. Now He turns from His opponents and speaks to His own disciples, while the whole crowd listens in.
One group after another had argued with Him, and none could hold their ground. That silence is what makes room for this verse.
Before Man and before God. — Now, free from the attacks of the disputants, He turned to address His disciples. For the rest of that day He spoke to them (Luke 20:45 — 21:36). First He warned them against the scribes. Then He commended a poor widow for her offering to the treasury of God. God's estimate of men's actions and man's estimate may be, and often are, very different.
The verse has two audiences. Jesus aims His words at the disciples, but He does not whisper. The crowd hears every word.
The religious leaders questioned the Lord, and the Lord questioned them. Those questions exposed the ignorant folly of their opposition to the truth. So in verses 45 to 47, in the hearing of all the people, the Lord gave a solemn warning. He warned about men who claim to be the highest authorities of learning. Notice that although all the people could hear this, He spoke straight to His disciples. Believers should not let men's grand claims fool them.
Luke does not record this as a public sentence passed on Israel's teachers. He records it as a lesson given to learners — the first item in a course of instruction that runs on into the next chapter.
Mark and Luke only touch on the question. Mark treats it as a falsifying of service, Luke on moral ground, for the instruction of disciples. Anything specially Jewish, whether in title or in forms and habits, disappears. What Mark and Luke record is not loving service but selfishness and hypocrisy — all the more deadly because it profanes God's name.
Some of the scribes had just applauded Him. Their praise did not soften what came next.
Everyone was now hushed by the wisdom of Him who spoke as no man ever spoke. Despite the applause of the scribes, He goes on to teach His disciples on their own. He begins with a warning against those scribes — though perhaps a faithful few stood among them.
Matthew and Luke handle the same scribes at very different lengths.
Compare Matthew 23 with Luke 20:45-47, and you see the difference at once. In Luke the Spirit uses three verses to set the scribes aside on moral ground. Matthew sets out their whole position in the religious order of that time: the place they held as long as the law of Moses stood, and their guilt before God in that place.
The warning does not stop where chapter 20 ends. A widow at the treasury comes right after the men who devoured widows' houses.
Then He looked up. Here were some of these rich men making a show of putting their money into the temple treasury. Among them came a poor widow, putting in her two small coins. We must not let the break of the chapters separate in our minds these opening verses from the closing two of Luke 20. The widow was probably one of those whose "house" had been devoured. Yet instead of complaining, she put her last two coins into the temple treasury.
- Silenced — Jesus answered every group that came to test Him. Their silence is the doorway into this verse.
- Turned — Free from His challengers, He turns to the people following Him. He teaches them for the rest of that day.
- Addressed — He speaks the warning to His disciples, and the crowd hears it all. Believers are the ones who must see through grand religious claims.
- Weighed — Luke needs only three verses to set the scribes aside on moral ground. Matthew develops their whole position at length. What Luke shows is selfishness and hypocrisy under God's name.
- Contrasted — One widow's two coins answer the men who devoured widows' houses. Read past the chapter break: God's estimate of an action and man's are often opposites.
Beware of the scribes, who like to walk about in long robes, and who love salutations in the market-places, and first seats in the synagogues, and first places at suppers;
The religious leaders have just tried to trap the Lord with questions, and failed. Now He warns His followers about the scribes, and the warning reaches past them to something that never dies out: using religion to gain notice, rank and comfort.
The warning that follows is aimed at His disciples, though the whole crowd was standing there and could hear it.
So in verses 45 to 47, with all the people listening, the Lord gave a solemn warning about men who claim to be the highest authorities of learning. Notice that although all the people could hear this, He spoke directly to His disciples. Believers must not let men's high claims fool them. The scribes wore long robes to draw attention to themselves, and men's religions copy this today. They loved to be recognised wherever the people gathered. All of this was empty vanity, a thin cover over the fact that they did not know God's Word, did not know how He governs, and did not know His grace. How different was the precious character of the lowly, faithful Son of Man! Being the eternal Son of God, He was entitled to every honour, yet He sought none at all from man.
The four things named are not a random pile of faults. Each one wins a different sort of praise.
These men love display — the "long robes"; public recognition — "greetings in the marketplaces"; religious rank — "the best seats in the synagogues"; social standing — "the places of honor at feasts". They push themselves forward, even at the cost of widows. They also make a show of religion, when "for a pretense" they "make long prayers." How solemn are the Lord's words: "They will receive the greater condemnation." The greater the pretension, the greater the judgment.
The scribes were the recognised teachers. Their fault was not only in what they taught.
The teaching of the scribes fell far short, and their ways were low and bad as well. They loved the honour of men, and religious honour most of all. So they wanted the best seats in the synagogues and the places of honour at feasts. They chased after everything that added to their comfort and honour in this world.
The three places named — markets, synagogues, feasts — are not three versions of the same setting. One writer, commenting on the same words in Matthew, sorts them into three circles of life.
It was all for the eye of men. At feasts — the social circle. In synagogues — the religious circle. In markets — the business circle. In every one of them they wanted the chief place, as Rabbis and Masters. The disciple of Christ is to be the exact opposite of all this, so let us take it to heart. The humbling of such men is only a matter of time.
Matthew and Luke report this warning at very different lengths, and each Gospel has its own aim.
Matthew devotes a long chapter to the scribes' position, their complete failure, and the stern judgment waiting for them from God — men whose religion was all outward form. Mark and Luke only touch on the matter. Mark treats it as a falsifying of service, Luke on moral ground, for the teaching of disciples. Whatever is specially Jewish, in title or in forms and habits, drops out of sight. What Mark and Luke record is not loving service but selfishness and hypocrisy, and it is all the worse because it dishonours God's name.
One writer carries the warning over to the clothes and titles used by those who serve God today.
We also never read of the ministers of Christ — evangelists, pastors or teachers — wearing any special collar or clothes. These departures from New Testament simplicity, in dress or in title, come from pagan sources. Everyone who puts the word of the Lord first should avoid them.
- Beware — the Lord warns His disciples out loud, in front of the crowd, so that no believer is fooled by high claims and impressive learning.
- Robes — the scribes wore long robes to draw attention; special dress and titles for ministers have no place in the New Testament.
- Seats — markets, synagogues and feasts cover business, religion and social life; the scribes wanted the top place in all three.
- Cost — this hunger for honour and comfort was not harmless vanity. It went as far as devouring widows' houses, and it draws the greater condemnation.
- Contrast — the disciple of Christ is to be the exact opposite, following the One who was entitled to every honour and sought none from man.
who devour the houses of widows, and as a pretext make long prayers. These shall receive a severer judgment.
The Lord closes His warning about the scribes with two verses. He moves from robes and greetings to something darker: men who stripped widows bare while making a show of prayer. What does it mean to "devour widows' houses," and why is their sentence heavier than other people's?
The scribes' arrogance had a partner: greed.
Greed was another evil principle tied to that arrogance — a greed with no pity even for widows. Israel's leaders should have cared for them. Instead they devoured their houses; that is, they made themselves rich at the widows' expense. At the same time their long public prayers were a show, meant to impress those same people.
Sorrow was their opening.
They devour widows' houses — that is, they take advantage even of people's sorrows, which left those people more completely under their influence. Along with this there was a great show of religion: they made long prayers as a pretence.
Position came first. Money was the reason for it.
Once they had gained the leading position, they used it to make themselves rich at the expense of widows, the most defenceless group in the community. Getting power and money was the whole aim and purpose of their religion. They followed "the way of Balaam, the son of Beor, who loved gain from wrongdoing" (2 Peter 2:15); and there are far too many in our day who still walk that evil road.
Prayer was the cover for the robbery — and one writer turns that into a warning for us.
What is more, they used their position to rob the poor and defenceless widow. They covered this outrage with a parade of long prayers. So they would receive a severer judgment. Long prayers may impress the crowd, but they did not impress the Lord! Let us remember this and avoid them ourselves. We dare to say that no one with deep desire, truly aware of God's presence, can wander about in a maze of words. As Ecclesiastes 5:2 shows, his words must be few.
Each item in the list is another way of being seen.
The exposure of the leaders is followed by the Lord's warning against people who made a great show of religion, but whose one motive was to exalt themselves. Such people love display — "long robes"; public recognition — "greetings in the marketplaces"; religious standing — "the best seats in the synagogues"; social status — "the places of honor at feasts"; self-advancement, even at the expense of widows; and religious show, when "for a pretense" they "make long prayers." How solemn are the Lord's words: "They will receive the greater condemnation." The greater the show, the greater the judgment.
Older English Bibles read "greater damnation" here. That word has narrowed in meaning since.
When the Bible was translated into English, the word "damnation" was used more loosely than it is now. "Damnation" is used often in the English New Testament for judgment, as in Matthew 23:14; Mark 12:40; Luke 20:47… Now, even if this "judgment" is everlasting condemnation, the word still means judgment.
Before He measured the sentence, the Lord named what these men were.
They were hypocrites of the worst kind, using religion as a cloak to cover their self-seeking and greed. He unmasked them and pronounced their doom. He did not speak of a longer damnation, as though judgment were limited by time and not eternal. But He did speak of greater damnation, showing that judgment will differ in its severity.
The story does not stop at the chapter break. What happens next at the temple treasury belongs with these words.
We must not let the chapter break separate these opening verses in our minds from the last two verses of Luke 20. The widow was likely one of those whose "house" had been devoured. Yet instead of complaining, she put her last two small coins into the temple treasury. In these circumstances her gift was a great one, and the Lord said so. She went to the very limit; she gave everything she had.
- Devour — The scribes made themselves rich at the expense of widows. Sorrow put those women under their influence.
- Disguise — Long prayers were the covering. Length impressed the crowd, never the Lord. A person truly aware of God's presence does not wander through a maze of words.
- Motive — Robes, greetings, seats, feasts, money, prayer: one motive, self, dressed as religion. Power and money were the point of it all.
- Greater — The Lord said greater judgment, not longer. Judgment differs in severity: the greater the show, the greater the judgment.
- Contrast — In the very next verses a widow, likely one of the robbed, gives everything she has. The Lord called that small gift great.
And he looked up and saw the rich casting their gifts into the treasury;
Luke 21 opens with the Lord in the temple, watching the rich bring their gifts — and noticing one poor widow behind them. What He says next overturns every ordinary way of measuring a gift.
The offering box stood in a part of the temple with a history of its own.
Part of the temple was called "the treasury." It held the things set apart for the Lord, such as the gold, silver, and the objects of brass and iron taken from Jericho (Joshua 6:19). The people also handed in their freewill offerings at "the treasury" (Mark 12:41, 43). On one occasion the Lord spoke to the people "in the treasury, as He taught in the temple." This was no doubt in the outer part, where He could watch the people bringing in their gifts. Luke 21:1; John 8:20.
This scene follows straight after the Lord's judgment on the scribes. Mark and Luke both record it, and each brings out a different side.
Then follows the judgment on the scribes, very briefly. Their hypocrisy was selfish: they devour widows' houses, and for a show they make long prayers. In contrast, the Lord's estimate of real devotedness is the widow's mites (Luke 21:1-4). Mark notes it as the service of faith, and so brings it into his Gospel of service. Luke shows it as a question of the heart's state and trust in God.
The rich put in far larger sums. The Lord measured something else.
The Lord's eye saw the motive behind this offering. He read the action as He alone could read it: "Truly, I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all of them. For they all contributed out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on." He judged rightly. He did not judge by what she gave, but by what she kept — and that was nothing!
Her two coins were a tiny sum, yet they cost her everything she had. That cost is what sets her gift apart.
The difference between giving one's living and giving one's surplus is obvious. When self is satisfied, a person may pay God compliments with presents, and even make that serve self. But the woman who gives her living gives herself, wholly devoted to God, and depends on God; the whole is in action towards God, in devotion and in faith.
Within a few verses the Lord announces that this very temple will be pulled down. Her coins were going into the upkeep of a building with no future — and He commended her anyway.
The widow expressed her devotion to God by putting her two mites into the collection for the upkeep of the temple building. Yet the Lord goes on to foretell that the building will be totally destroyed. The presence of the Lord had already displaced it. God was in Christ, not in Herod's temple. In her understanding the widow was, as we would say, behind the times; yet this did not spoil the Lord's approval of her gift. He does appreciate whole-hearted devotion, even when the person showing it does not yet fully understand. This should be a great comfort to us.
The love He praised did not start with her.
It is a lovely picture of devotedness in the widow. How much lovelier to see Him who gave her the faith and drew out her love, admiring and so richly valuing the fruit of His own grace! May He say the same of our wealth toward God in the coming day, when money and every false standard will have disappeared for ever.
One writer carries the scene forward to the moment a collection reaches us.
It is worth thinking about this every time we are called to give to the Lord's cause. Remember, as someone puts the box or the basket into my hand, that "Jesus is sitting opposite the treasury." His holy eye rests, not on the purse, but on the heart. He weighs, not the amount, but the motive. If the heart is right, the amount will be right, in His judgment.
- Seen — He sat where He could watch the givers. The same eye read the rich and the widow, resting on the heart, not the purse.
- Weighed — He judged not by what she gave but by what she kept, and she kept nothing.
- Given — In giving her whole living she gave herself, in devotion and in dependence on God.
- Accepted — Her coins went to a temple He was about to say would fall. Her understanding lagged behind, yet He approved her love.
- Praised — He had first given the faith He praised. The grace He admired in her was the fruit of His own grace, and He will say the same of us when every false standard is gone.
but he saw also a certain poor widow casting therein two mites.
The Lord sits in the temple, watching money drop into the collection chests. Out of the whole crowd, one poor widow with two of the smallest coins catches His eye. Older translations call them "two mites." Why does so small a gift get the Lord's full attention?
The story follows straight after the Lord's judgment on the scribes, the religious teachers of that day. Each Gospel writer draws out a different side of it.
Then follows the judgment — very briefly — on the scribes. In contrast with their selfish hypocrisy ("who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers"), the Lord's measure of real devotion is the widow's mites. Mark notices it as the service of faith, and so brings it into his Gospel of service. Luke shows it as a question of the heart's state and trust in God.
The point cuts deeper. The system she was funding had been robbing women like her.
The widow was probably one of those whose "house" had been devoured. Instead of complaining, she cast her last two mites into the temple treasury. Under these circumstances her gift was truly a great one, and the Lord pronounced it to be so. She went to the utmost limit; casting in her all.
The common phrase "the widow's mite" gets the story wrong by half.
To speak of this incident under the heading of "The Widow's Mite" is clearly incorrect. The widow did not contribute her mite; she gave both her mites — all that she had.
So why does the account name two coins instead of one small sum?
Why does the Spirit take such care to say "two mites, which make a farthing"? Why not be content to say, "She threw in a farthing"? That would never do. It would miss the real point of exquisite beauty. If she had had it all in one piece, she must have either given all or nothing. Having it in two, she had the option of keeping half for her own living. Most of us would call it extraordinary devotion to give half of all we had in the world to the Lord's cause. But this poor widow had a whole heart for God.
The Lord weighs gifts by another measure.
God does not go by the amount you give. He judges not by what you hand over, but by what you keep back for self. In this case it was nothing — she gave all. Those who gave out of their abundance kept the greater part for themselves. The test of generosity is not what you give, but what you keep. Much kept back for self-enjoyment proves how little you really give. But when nothing is left, and all goes into the treasury of God, there is the true working of divine love and faith.
Giving everything left her with nothing to live on.
The difference between giving one's living and one's surplus is obvious. One may, when self is satisfied, pay God compliments with presents, and make it serve self. But she who gives her living gives herself. She is wholly devoted to God, and she depends on God. The whole of her is in action towards God, in devotion and in faith. The two mites were the most perfect expression of this. Need was there, and everything that could hinder it, while the applause of men and the pride of the donor could find no place.
Soon after, the Lord says the temple she had just supported would be torn down.
The widow expressed her devotion to God by casting her two mites into the collection for the upkeep of the temple. Yet the Lord goes on to foretell its total destruction. Already it was displaced by the presence of the Lord. God was in Christ, not in Herod's temple. In her understanding the widow was, as we would say, behind the times. Yet this did not spoil the Lord's approval of her gift. He does appreciate whole-hearted devotion, even when it is not expressed with full understanding. This should be a great comfort to us.
This scene repeats each time an offering box comes round.
It is good to think about this every time we are asked to give to the Lord's cause. As the box or the basket comes into my hand, remember that Jesus is sitting opposite the treasury. His holy eye rests, not upon the purse, but upon the heart. He weighs, not the amount, but the motive. If the heart is right, the amount will be right, according to His judgment.
- Seen. Among the large public gifts, the Lord singles out the one nobody else noticed.
- Two, not one. She could have kept half. Two coins instead of one show a heart that held nothing back.
- Weighed. God measures what you keep, not what you give. She kept nothing, so her gift outweighed all the rest.
- Trusted. To give your living is to give yourself and depend on God. With need pressing and no applause on offer, her faith was plain.
- Accepted. She gave to a temple already doomed, yet the Lord still praised her. He values whole-hearted love even when understanding falls short.
And he said, Verily I say unto you, that this poor widow has cast in more than all;
Jesus has just warned about religious leaders who devour widows' houses. Now He watches a poor widow at the temple treasury and calls her tiny gift the largest of the day.
The chapter break hides a connection. This widow was probably one of those the leaders had robbed, and she gave away what she had left.
Then He looked up. Some of these rich men were making a show of putting their money into the temple treasury. Among them came a poor widow, putting in her two small coins. We must not let the chapter break separate these opening verses in our minds from the closing two of Luke 20. The widow was probably one of those whose "house" had been devoured. Yet instead of complaining, she put her last two coins into the temple treasury. In those circumstances her gift was truly a great one, and the Lord said so. She went to the very limit and gave everything she had.
Jesus is doing a sum here, not paying a compliment. He counts by a rule we would never use.
God does not go by the amount given; He judges not by what is contributed, but by what is kept behind for self. In this case it was nothing — all was given. Those who gave out of their plenty kept the greater part for themselves. The test of generosity is not what is given, but what is left. The much that is kept for self-enjoyment is the proof of how little is given. But when nothing is left, and all is cast into the treasury of God, there is the true working of divine love and faith. There is what God values. It expresses not only generous giving, but complete confidence in Himself.
Scripture does not just name a total. It names two coins, and that detail is not an accident.
Did you ever notice how she was carrying all she had to live on? Why does the Spirit take such care to say "two small copper coins, which make a penny"? Why not just say, "She threw in a penny"? That would never do. It would not have brought out the real beauty of the moment — the true touch of whole-hearted devotedness. If she had had it all in one piece, she must have given either all or nothing. Having it in two, she had the option of keeping half for her own living.
That same detail shows how people misuse the phrase "the widow's mite" today.
Never were coins so wrongly spoken about as these two mites. Someone asks a rich man rolling in his thousands to give to some good cause. He writes a cheque for £5 and says with an easy smile to the one collecting, "Well, here is the widow's mite." Is that so? The widow did not give one mite, but two, and that was all she had. The widow's mite would be half of the rich man's fortune; the two mites, everything he owned. The Lord's praise of this poor widow is very cheering to those who can spare only a little. He values such wholehearted giving.
Her money went into a religious system God had already judged. The Lord still valued what she did inside it.
All the wealth that supported the outward service of God counted for nothing. The Lord looked at the real devoted love of heart there was toward Him and His service. There is much still to learn from this passage. A system may be very evil, a system now judged, and a sincere soul may serve it in a way that is fully acceptable. The Lord does not judge at all according to the system. He judges by the principles of righteousness and grace that mark that soul off from the system — the same principles by which He judged and condemned the system itself. He knows how to separate out the intention of the individual and own it.
The commendation reaches back further than the widow. What Jesus admires in her, He first put there.
It is a lovely picture of devotedness in the widow. How much lovelier to see Him who gave her the faith and drew out her love! He is admiring and so richly valuing the fruit of His own grace. May He have occasion to speak in the same way of our wealth toward God in the day that is coming. In that day money and every false measure will have disappeared for ever.
- Seen. The smallest gift in the treasury was the one the Lord singled out, and He said so aloud.
- Weighed. He does not measure what leaves your hand; He measures what stays behind — the test is not what is given but what is left.
- Whole. She held two coins and could have kept one; giving both is what turns a small sum into total devotedness.
- Owned. The system she gave to was already judged. The Lord still marked out her sincere heart and owned her gift.
- His own. The faith He praised in her was the faith He had given her — He was admiring the fruit of His own grace.
for all these out of their abundance have cast into the gifts [of God]; but she out of her need has cast in all the living which she had.
Two small coins fall into the temple treasury, and Jesus stops everything to say they outweigh every large gift given that day. He weighs what each person gave against what they kept back, which raises the question of what God counts in our giving.
This scene follows straight on from the Lord's warning about the religious teachers, and the two passages belong together:
We must not let the chapter break separate these opening verses from the closing two of Luke 20. The widow was probably one of those whose "house" had been devoured. Yet instead of complaining, she cast her last two mites into the temple treasury. In her situation her gift was a great one indeed, and the Lord said so. She went to the utmost limit; casting in her all.
Set against the men who made long prayers for show, she is the Lord's own answer to them:
Then comes the judgment on the scribes — but only briefly. Set against their selfish hypocrisy ("who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers"), the Lord's estimate of real devotedness is the widow's mites. Mark notices it as the service of faith, and so brings it into his Gospel of service. Luke shows it as a question of the heart's state and trust in God.
The rich gave "out of their abundance." God's arithmetic runs backwards from ours:
God does not go by the amount given; He judges not by what you contribute, but by what you keep back for yourself. In her case she kept back nothing — she gave it all. Those who gave out of their abundance kept the greater part for themselves. The test of generosity is not what you give, but what you keep. Keeping much for your own enjoyment proves how little you really gave. But when nothing is kept and everything goes into the treasury of God, that is the true working of Divine love and faith.
She had two coins, not one, and that detail is deliberate. She was never forced into an all-or-nothing choice:
Why does the Spirit take such care to say "two mites, which make a farthing"? Why not be content to say, "She threw in a farthing"? Ah! this would never do. It would not have brought out the real point of exquisite beauty — the true touch of whole-hearted devotedness. If she had had it all in one piece, she must have either given all or nothing. Having it in two, she had the option of keeping half for her own living. Most of us would call it extraordinary devotion to give half of everything we own to the Lord's cause. But this poor widow had a whole heart for God.
Her gift bought almost nothing. The Lord measured it on a different scale:
"Two mites which make a farthing": really about three quarters of a farthing! But its value, as our Lord declares, was not the market value — not what it could buy. It was intangible and spiritual. The two mites were all the money she had: "all she had to live on." She had put her heart in with it: a heart that kept nothing back from God. Its value was the value of sacrifice, and One who was Himself the Great Sacrifice could not fail to appreciate it.
She had just paid for the upkeep of a building that had no future, and she did not know it:
The widow expressed her devotion to God by casting her two mites into the collection for the upkeep of the temple building. Yet the Lord goes on to foretell its total destruction. The presence of the Lord had already displaced it. God was in Christ, not in Herod's temple. In her understanding the widow was, as we should say, behind the times; yet this did not spoil the Lord's approval of her gift. He does value whole-hearted devotion, even when the person showing it does not fully understand. This should be a great comfort to us.
The devotion He praises did not begin with her:
The widow's devotedness is a lovely picture. How much lovelier to see Him who gave her the faith and drew out her love, admiring and so warmly valuing the fruit of His own grace! May He speak like that of our wealth toward God in the coming day, when money and every false estimate will have disappeared for ever!
- Kept, not given. The test is not the size of the gift but the size of what stays behind; she kept nothing, so she gave most.
- Kept nothing, though she could have. Two coins meant she could have halved it and still looked generous — the second mite is the whole point.
- Kept back from the market. Her coins bought almost nothing. Their worth was the worth of sacrifice, and the One who was Himself the great Sacrifice saw it.
- Kept in the dark, still approved. She funded a temple with no future. He still praised her devotion, though her understanding lagged behind.
- Kept by His grace. The faith and love He praised in her He had first given her — He was admiring the fruit of His own work.
And as some spoke of the temple, that it was adorned with goodly stones and consecrated offerings, he said,
Moments earlier the Lord had watched a poor widow give her two coins to the temple treasury. Now others were admiring the building itself — its fine stonework and its dedicated gifts — and His reply raises a question: what does God value in a place of worship?
Luke does not say the disciples raised the subject. One writer notes that the wording points to a wider group. The title used for the Lord in the next verse supports this:
Wellhausen rightly points out that the question, as Luke's Gospel gives it, came from a wider circle than the disciples alone. Verse 7 bears this out. There the Lord is called "Teacher", while the disciples in Luke's Gospel usually say "Lord" or "Master".
The temple standing then was Herod's — a project decades in the making and the pride of the nation. Writers note both its scale and the character of the men behind it:
Herod's magnificent temple was still not finished, though it had been going up for nearly fifty years. It grew under their eyes, the glory of Israel, despite the murderous hands that built it. The temple still drew them.
A reference work adds the plain verdict on the builder and on those running the worship inside:
It was all on a magnificent scale... Herod was not God's man to build Him a house, nor were the leaders of the Jews fit men to carry on His worship.
The speakers and the Lord looked at one object and saw two different things. One writer puts the misplaced honour like this:
How little man sees as God does! The temple was God's house, but men gave more honour to the house than to its Lord: in fact it had become virtually their house.
Another writer traces the difference to the eye that looks. The Lord had already passed the sentence:
They saw the building, but not with the eye of Christ... He had seen it, and all that surrounded it, with the eye of God. Costly and beautiful beyond compare as it was, He had written its judgment... But the disciples still eyed the beauty of the stones. So Jesus, in patient grace, had to write out the doom of that place again — they had asked, and their eyes could not see as His did.
The chapter's opening scene and this one belong together. The widow had just given everything she had toward the upkeep of a building the Lord was about to condemn:
The widow showed her devotion to God by dropping her two coins into the collection for the upkeep of the temple building. Yet the Lord goes on to foretell its total destruction. The presence of the Lord had already replaced it. God was in Christ, not in Herod's temple. In her understanding the widow was, as we would say, behind the times. Yet this did not spoil the Lord's approval of her gift. He does value whole-hearted devotion, even when it is not expressed with full understanding.
One writer notes that Luke keeps close to the events then coming, and differs in focus from Matthew:
In this Gospel the Lord's account of the sorrows of Jerusalem is tied much more closely to one plain fact: the judgment on the nation and the change of dispensation. It differs greatly from Matthew 24, which refers fully to what will happen at the end... So Luke plainly sets out the siege and destruction by Titus, and the times of the Gentiles.
History confirmed the word to the letter, even against the wishes of the commander on the ground:
Herod's Temple was destroyed... In A.D. 70 Titus, the Roman general, tried to save such a wonderful building, but the divine word had decreed its destruction. The Lord's word was fulfilled to the last detail — not one stone remained on another.
The same admiration can settle on any building. One writer names the danger directly:
Fixing our thoughts on the house, in order to draw attention to it, is a snare. The building often becomes more than the Builder, and the house more than the One who lives in it... So beware of any teaching that makes more of the house than of its Occupant.
- Stones — the fine stonework and the dedicated gifts were real. Herod spent nearly fifty years on the work, and Herod was not God's man to build God a house.
- Sight — the same stones drew admiration from men and a sentence from Christ, who looked at them with the eye of God.
- Substitution — men honoured the house more than its Lord, so it became their house rather than God's.
- Sacrifice — the widow gave her two coins to a doomed building, and the Lord still approved. He values whole-hearted devotion even when understanding lags behind.
- Sentence — Luke ties the prophecy to the siege under Titus. In A.D. 70 not one stone remained on another, just as the Lord said.
[As to] these things which ye are beholding, days are coming in which there shall not be left stone upon stone which shall not be thrown down.
Days before the cross, people admired the temple — its fine stones and the gifts placed in it. Jesus answered with a sentence of total demolition. Why would God let His own house fall? And what does so exact a prediction prove about the One who spoke it?
The building was still magnificent. But its worth had already gone, because the nation had disowned the God whose house it was. One writer ties the sentence to His leaving:
A temple, however splendid, has no value when its God is disowned. Jehovah was there in the person of Jesus, and the nation did not know Him or recognise Him. Where He was recognised, He was rejected. He leaves the temple in sorrow, and whatever Jehovah abandons is truly desolate.
Another writer points out who the people had come to treat as the owner of the building:
The temple was God's house, but people gave more honour to the house than to its Lord. In practice it had become their house.
The disciples and Jesus looked at the same building and saw opposite things. One writer sets the two views side by side:
They saw the building, but not with the eye of Christ... He had seen it, and everything around it, with the eye of God. Expensive as it was, and beautiful beyond compare, He had written its judgment... The disciples still gazed at the beauty of the stones, and Jesus, in patient grace, had to write the doom of that place a second time, because they asked and because their eyes could not see.
Just before this, a poor widow gives two small coins to the temple. One writer keeps the two scenes together, and finds comfort in the mismatch:
The widow showed her devotion to God by putting her two small coins into the collection for the upkeep of the temple building. Yet the Lord goes on to foretell its total destruction. The presence of the Lord had already displaced it. God was in Christ, not in Herod's temple... He does value whole-hearted devotion, even when the way it is expressed shows less than full understanding.
Luke alone records what the disciples said about the gifts on display:
Luke is the only Gospel writer who notes that the disciples spoke to the Lord about the gifts offered to God that decorated the temple. All three writers mention its fine stones or buildings.
His answer then runs along two lines:
Here the question is about the time of the overthrow of the temple, and the sign of it. The answer falls into two parts. Verses 8-24 give the events leading up to the Romans destroying Jerusalem and trampling it down. Verses 25-33 give the appearing of the Son of Man at the end of the age.
A Roman army later took the city. One writer sets the outcome out as a contest between two commands:
Titus gave strict orders that the Temple, that magnificent building... should be preserved. Which would stand: the prophecy of the lowly Jesus, or the commands of the domineering Titus? One was no longer on earth to enforce His wishes, as people would say. The other was on the very spot, with all the power of a victorious army behind him.
Commentators differ on when the last stones went. One writer traces the final clearing of the site to a later hand — an enemy trying to disprove the words:
It is reported that the emperor Julian, who had first embraced Christianity and then rejected it, commissioned many Jews to return and rebuild the temple, to prove Christ's prophecy false. When they found it so badly damaged, they decided to pull it down completely and build it again. So they fulfilled Christ's prophecy to the letter, by taking every stone away.
Another writer sets the words beside what history records:
He foretold the destruction of the Temple, and it happened just as He said. He foretold the terrors of the siege of Jerusalem, and it was the worst in history for bloodshed... Could prophecy be more exact and wonderful? It proves beyond doubt that Christ and the Scriptures are inspired.
- Cause — the nation disowned Christ, and the sentence followed. A building is worth nothing once its God is turned away.
- Blindness — the disciples saw beautiful stones. Christ saw a house already judged, and stated its doom a second time for eyes that would not read it.
- Comfort — the widow gave to a doomed building, and He still valued her gift. He welcomes whole-hearted devotion even when understanding lags behind.
- Structure — the answer has two parts: the Roman destruction in verses 8-24, then the Son of Man appearing in verses 25-33.
- Proof — a victorious general wanted the temple spared and could not save it. The word of the rejected Christ stood, and every stone came down.
And they asked him saying, Teacher, when then shall these things be; and what [is] the sign when these things are going to take place?
The disciples have been admiring the temple's fine stonework. The Lord has just told them that not one stone will remain on another. So they ask: when, and by what sign? The three Gospel writers each report that question differently, and the difference shapes everything that follows.
One commentator ties their admiration for the stones to a deeper blindness:
The natural, earthbound thoughts of men then come out in another direction. Some drew attention to the decorations of the temple with its attractive and expensive stones and ornaments. How little man sees as God does! The temple was God's house, but men gave more honour to the house than to its Lord: in fact it had become virtually their house. The Lord pronounced solemn judgment upon it: there would not be left one stone upon another.
In Matthew the same question follows a different conversation:
In Matthew, Jesus had just spoken of the Jews' house being left desolate. He had also spoken of His own departure, until they should receive Him as the one coming "in the name of the Lord." Then someone points Him to the temple, and He foretells its ruin. So the disciples ask, "When will these things be? And what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?" Here the leading thought is the "end of the age," and the Lord's reappearance after His predicted withdrawal. In Luke, however, Jesus has not been speaking of His departure or return, but simply foretelling the overthrow of the temple.
This does not mean one writer got it wrong:
All three tell us He was asked about the desolation of the temple. But Matthew and Mark add questions about what is still future, while Luke keeps to questions about what is now past. Luke tells us the questions were about the beginning of Jerusalem's troubles, not the end of them. There is no real difficulty here. All these questions were doubtless put to Him. But each writer records the ones that match the Lord's reply, as the Spirit guided him.
Because Luke keeps the narrower question, he keeps a body of detail no other Gospel gives:
Notice that the Holy Spirit inspired the writer to drop the question about the coming of the Son of man and the completion of the age. As with Mark, they ask when the destruction of the temple will be, and the sign of its beginning. The Lord fully replies, but as usual gives much more... On the other hand, only here do we get clear light on the coming siege and capture of Jerusalem by the Romans. Only here do we read of its later shameful subjection, until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.
The Lord gives the sign thirteen verses later:
In verse 20 He says: "But when you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation has come near." Here is the plain reply to the only part of the disciples' question which Luke records. Armies surrounding Jerusalem would be the sign that its desolation was near.
Their request for a date exposes a common blind spot:
This coming destruction shows that Christ had not come to establish His kingdom. Yet they asked Him when these things would take place. People usually want to know the order of events. They are not concerned about the moral issues behind those events. They asked for a sign, little realising that present moral and spiritual conditions matter most in God's future judgments.
He warns them about a promise of rest that comes too early:
"Watch out," He says, "people will be promising you rest before rest comes." ... The Lord here anticipates the very same thing. He says, "Now, do not mistake. The time cannot draw near until there has been judgment." And that is what I am bold to say to the world now. You are not going to have a kingdom — the time of glory is not drawing near; nor will it, until judgment has purged the earth.
- Stones — The disciples honoured the building above its Lord. That misplaced admiration drew out the whole prophecy.
- Question — Luke records only the narrow half of what was asked: when the temple falls, and by what sign. Matthew adds the question about His coming and the end of the age.
- Selection — All the questions were really asked. Each writer keeps the ones that match the answer he records.
- Sign — Luke's answer arrives at verse 20: armies encircling Jerusalem, and after that the city's long subjection until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled.
- Warning — Before any date, the Lord says: do not be fooled. Wanting a timetable is not being ready. Glory never comes before judgment.
And he said, See that ye be not led astray, for many shall come in my name, saying, *I* am [he], and the time is drawn nigh go ye not [therefore] after them.
The disciples had just asked the Lord when the temple would fall and what sign would show that it was about to happen. His first words give them no date; instead He warns them about the men who would gladly supply one.
The Lord's reply is not a supply of facts for the curious.
Notice how the Lord presents the whole matter. He does not give a mass of details to feed our curiosity. He gives predictions that sound a note of warning and carry instructions of the greatest importance to His disciples. He says everything in a way that appeals to our consciences and not our curiosity.
The claim "I am he" only tempts people who are already expecting someone. And refusing the real One is what leaves the door open.
You never find this exact warning against false Christs in the letters of the apostles. The apostles wrote those letters to Christians, and no Christian could be fooled by a man's claim to be Christ… These disciples were, as the godly remnant of the nation, looking for the Messiah to bring in glory. So the Lord warns them not to believe anyone who rises up among them saying, "I am Christ."… The rejection of the true Christ lays them open to the reception of a false Christ. Our Lord had warned them of this: "I have come in my Father's name, and you do not receive me. If another comes in his own name, you will receive him."… But take the letter of John, and what do you find there? "Beloved, do not believe every spirit." The great mark of the Church is the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the deceit we have to watch against is false spirits, not false Christs, though there are many antichrists.
The deceivers claim more than a person. They claim a date too, and Luke is the one who records that claim.
There are only two real differences. Luke had events only a few years away in view, and he records our Lord as saying that "the time draws near." Matthew, who points to the later fulfilment of the prophecy, leaves these words out. Matthew also says the false Christ "will deceive many," which points to the great national falling away at the end of the age. Luke gives the warning but records no such prediction. The Christians in Jerusalem were in fact not deceived by the claims of the impostors who arose at the time of the revolt against Rome.
The same words are deception in one mouth and plain truth in another. The Lord treats them as a deceiver's line; an apostle writes them to Christians as fact.
The Lord treats it as deceit to say "the time draws near." Yet the apostle puts us under those very words (Luke 21:8; James 5:8). After certain signs or events, the Lord tells the remnant that their expectation is near. The apostle tells us that ours is always near.
The warning was not theoretical. Within a century of these words a man appeared who fitted them exactly.
In A.D. 131 a fanatical deceiver, Bar-chobab, rose up, presenting himself as the promised Messiah. How well the Lord gave His warning!
Not every pretender uses the title, and the count is far from finished.
History has proved how necessary such a warning was. There are almost countless prophetic deceptions today, and they have multiplied fast since the 1800s. Many have already come claiming to be Christ. Some of them do not use this exact title, yet they lift themselves into the place that belongs to the Lord Jesus alone. Many have been deceived by them.
The Lord gave the warning plainly, so anyone who falls for it carries the blame.
The Lord did not satisfy mere curiosity. He urged them to be careful not to be deceived. In the matter of prophecy there are countless deceptions. If we are deceived, we are to blame. God is not deceived, and honest communion with Him, in submission to His Word, will keep us safe. We have seen in our own days the truth of what the Lord says. Many would come in His name claiming to be the Messiah, and thousands have fallen for them despite the Lord's plain warning.
- The question. The disciples wanted a date and a sign. The Lord answered the conscience, not the curiosity.
- The bait. Two claims travel together — a person ("I am he") and a deadline ("the time is at hand"); the Lord calls both of them deception.
- The opening. Refusing the One who came in His Father's name leaves people open to the one who comes in his own name.
- The record. Bar-chobab fitted the warning, and many have since. Some never used the title. They just took the place that belongs to Christ alone.
- The guard. Do not go after them. God is not deceived, and honest communion with Him, in submission to His Word, keeps us from being fooled.
And when ye shall hear of wars and tumults, be not terrified, for these things must first take place, but the end is not immediately.
The disciples had just asked when the temple would fall. The Lord answers with a warning, not a date. He names the things that make people panic: war and public unrest. Then He says these are not the sign that the end has come.
Older translations end this verse with "the end is not by and by." Today that sounds like "not for a long time." It meant the opposite: not at once. So the verse is a command against panic.
They are not to fear the violent movements of men. They are not to imagine that these upheavals mean the end is coming at once — for that is what "by and by" means here.
The Lord does not present the coming turmoil as an accident. Writers trace it to one cause: the King was rejected. Until He reigns, the world has no peace.
The Lord first gives a general sketch of the ruin about to follow. Moral improvement, truth spreading everywhere, peace for mankind — for now these were misleading dreams. They should be on their guard against them. ... His disciples were not to be disturbed or deceived. Such evil things must be because the King was rejected, and the end is not yet. Instead of learning war no more as when He comes in His kingdom, nation shall rise against nation and kingdom against kingdom.
Because the end is not immediate, headlines are not a countdown clock. The purpose of the warning is practical: a disciple who is not shaken by world events can keep working.
Besides the false Christs, there would be political disturbances, restlessness, and actual wars and rumours of wars. These would attract attention and mark the state of things on earth. But the disciples were not to be troubled. All this would come to pass, but these were no signs of His coming — the end was not yet. So the Lord is providing what would guide and strengthen His witnesses, keeping them calm and steady in their places. He gives instruction that would make them calm in service, not agitated by circumstances or by false hopes... They might still serve quietly on.
Commentators note that Luke tells this discourse as history. Several place verse 9 in the years running up to the Roman siege of Jerusalem.
As for Luke 21, it is much more historical... So verses 9 to 19 give us the state of things from after the Lord's death until the Roman armies surrounded Jerusalem. There is no mention of the abomination of desolation here.
The same writer lists what those years would ask of the disciples, up to the Roman sack of Jerusalem under Titus.
In these earlier verses (8-19) the Lord dwells on the dangers, duties, and trials of the disciples before Titus sacked Jerusalem. They were especially to beware of a pretended deliverer, and of the cry that the time of deliverance was at hand. Nor were they to be terrified by wars or commotions, any more than seduced by fair promises. These things must first happen, but the end not immediately.
Not everyone limits the verse to the first century. Some read the same words as a picture of the whole course of the world. They also read them as an answer to the hope that things will slowly improve.
Wars and commotions would come (v. 9), as they have, but this is not enough to signify the end. Nations and kingdoms are set against one another. That shows the gospel will not slowly change the world for the better, as some have imagined... How well the Lord knew and fully declared that the gospel would not convert the world. His words here are a rebuke to those who have cherished such futile hopes.
Another writer warns against reading the news as fulfilled prophecy.
There are sure signs that we are in the last days. But these are not the "wars and tumults," the "earthquakes, and in various places famines and pestilences," or the "terrors and great signs from heaven" of Luke 21... Some have allowed their imagination to run riot over such things and over sensational events in the political world.
- Meaning — In older wording, "the end is not by and by" means the end is not at once. Wars do not announce it.
- Cause — The turmoil goes back to the rejection of the King. Peace on earth waits for His reign, so dreams of steady progress are misplaced.
- Composure — "Do not be terrified" is the point of the warning. Disciples who know what is coming stay calm, steady in their places, and go on serving.
- Timing — Commentators differ. Several read verses 9–19 as the years from the Lord's death to the Roman siege of Jerusalem. Others hear a description of the world's whole course.
- Caution — Both readings agree on one rule. Never treat today's conflicts as proof that the end has arrived, and do not let imagination run wild over political events.
Then he said to them, Nation shall rise up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom;
The Lord has just told the disciples not to panic at wars and unrest, for "the end will not be at once." Here He describes the world between His going and His return — and readers ask whether He means the fall of Jerusalem, the last crisis, or both.
Matthew and Mark give this stage of trouble a name that Luke does not repeat. One writer marks where the section ends:
Luke 21:9. — Down to verse 11 we have what Matthew and Mark call the "beginning of birth pains."
So nation against nation is not the crisis itself but the first pang. Such troubles are not new, yet they still point forward:
So we read of "the beginning of sorrows," announced in advance by nation rising against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, with the famines, plagues and earthquakes that come with them. These things are not unique to that one moment. Yet they still come before it, and so they give a clear warning of worse to follow.
Luke's report differs from Matthew's. One writer explains that Luke has the nearer event in view, while Matthew looks to the end of the age — and that the same features mark both:
Luke refers to the state of things around the siege of Jerusalem by Titus. Matthew refers to the final troubles of the Jews. The two are clearly much alike. The features that long ago became history in the earlier events will appear again in the later ones. False Christs, wars, commotions, and frightening natural events are common to both periods. So in the first few verses (Luke 21:8-11; Matt. 24:4-8) there is only slight variation between the reports.
What the Lord announces here is the opposite of the promised kingdom. It settles the character of the whole present time:
The new age has not yet come, and it cannot while the Lord Jesus is away. Whatever men promise and hope for, all their scheming will not succeed. All their expectations will prove false. "Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom" — that is, a state quite the opposite of what is promised for the kingdom.
This also answers a hope many have held about what the gospel would do in the world:
Nations and kingdoms are hostile to one another. This shows there would be no gradual change for the better in the world through the gospel, as some have foolishly imagined. Instead there would be a sharp increase in alarming signs — earthquakes, famines, plagues. The Lord knew well, and declared fully, that the gospel would not convert the world. His words here are a rebuke to those who have cherished such futile hopes.
The Lord warns His followers in advance. World events then cannot shake them or confuse their sense of the times:
But in each case His warnings arm His disciples beforehand. They must not let false Christs deceive them for a moment, or follow them. They must not fear the violent movements of men, or think that such upheavals mean the end is coming at once.
- Beginning — war between nations is the first birth pang, not the birth. Matthew and Mark call this stage "the beginning of birth pains."
- Twice over — the same features marked the siege of Jerusalem and will appear again in the final troubles. Luke and Matthew report this section almost alike.
- Contrary — a world of nation against nation is the opposite of the promised kingdom. So that kingdom has not yet come.
- Undeceived — nations keep clashing to the end. No human scheme and no spread of preaching will slowly mend the world.
- Unshaken — warned in advance, believers do not follow false Christs, do not fear violence, and do not rush to say the end has come.
there shall be both great earthquakes in different places, and famines and pestilences; and there shall be fearful sights and great signs from heaven.
Luke 21:11 sits inside the Lord's answer to a question about the temple's destruction. Commentators read the events He lists — earthquakes, famines, plagues, terrors overhead — both as history already fulfilled and as a picture of what still lies ahead. The chapter raises a question every generation asks again: are these disasters the sign that the end has come?
One writer marks off Luke's report of this prophecy from Matthew's.
Here the Lord Jesus gives us a very direct and immediate picture of the destruction of Jerusalem, which was then close at hand. Matthew passes over the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans. He fixes attention on what will take place at the end of the age. Luke gives us this last event too — at least he closes with the future crisis. But the main point in the central part of Luke is to point out the destruction that was then at hand. It was a distinct state of things, and a distinct time, from the circumstances of the Son of man's day.
The verse ends with terrors and great signs from heaven. One writer points to strange sights over the city that the historian Josephus recorded. (Older translations render the phrase as "fearful sights.")
Josephus, the historian, tells us that a star or a comet with a long tail shaped like a sword hung over the city for a whole year. Another sign was that on one occasion chariots and troops of soldiers were seen among the clouds, rushing to and fro. On another occasion a great light shone around the altar for about half an hour and then died out. The gate of the inner court of the temple, made of brass and so heavy that it took twenty men to shut it, opened by itself. This was taken to mean that the temple would no longer be protected from the enemy. These events may seem like fables, but the historian declares that many people witnessed them, and Tacitus confirms these signs.
The Lord gave this list to men who would have to keep serving while the world shook.
The disciples were not to be troubled; all this would come to pass, they were no signs of His coming, the end was not yet. So the Lord is caring for what would guide and strengthen His witnesses, keeping them calm and steady in their places. He gives them the kind of teaching that would keep them calm in service, not stirred up by circumstances or by false hopes.
Disasters of this kind have marked every century. One writer weighs the wording of the verse before treating any of them as fulfilment.
You can trace such events through the whole course of world history. But they have been rare, not frequent, while the text plainly implies they will happen often, and probably in different places at the same time. How often has a Christian, on hearing of an event of this kind, said, "Surely we must now be in the time of Matthew 24!" Yet the very fact that it draws comment as a rare event shows that we are not yet in that time. It is fair to conclude that the prophecy means famines, plagues and earthquakes to a degree and over an area beyond anything known before.
Commentators differ over what is shaken here. One writer reads the earthquakes as a symbol.
As a symbol, earthquakes point to an upheaval of the lower masses of society. This overthrows the social system, either in part or completely.
Another writer does not choose between the two readings.
I have little doubt that the scene will be as mixed as the language. There will be terrible signs really given. Besides that, there will be a real breaking up of all existing powers, and terror in every heart… But there will be more than a revolution. It will be an overthrow and upsetting of all visible and organised powers.
Disasters in the meantime still carry a voice, and men are quick to explain it away.
These happen under the providential government of God. Through them He keeps making Himself heard and shows His power… Sadly, people too often treat such judgments as natural events or mere accidents and disasters. They see no God in them, and soon forget them. These judgments should warn men. A light shower often falls before a storm, and in the same way these frequent judgments are only the forerunners of the great storm of the wrath of God that will fall on this guilty world.
- Setting. Luke's report keeps the coming Roman siege of Jerusalem in view, while Matthew looks past it to the end of the age.
- Signs. Josephus recorded strange sights over the city: a sword-shaped comet, armies in the clouds, a temple gate that opened by itself.
- Scale. The wording points to disasters more frequent and more widespread than any before. One rare disaster shows the time has not yet come.
- Steadiness. The Lord gave the list so His witnesses would stay calm and keep serving, not chase false hopes.
- Shaking. Ground trembling, society collapsing, or both — these are forerunners. They are a light shower before the storm, calling men to reckon with God now.
But before all these things they shall lay their hands upon you and persecute you, delivering [you] up to synagogues and prisons, bringing [you] before kings and governors on account of my name;
The Lord has just described wars, earthquakes, famines and terrors in the sky. Now He turns to what will happen to His own followers, and He puts their suffering first in the order of events. Two questions follow. When does this persecution fall? And why does He say the cause is His name rather than anything the disciples do?
The little phrase that opens the verse changes the whole timetable. What the disciples will suffer is not folded into the wars and signs; it runs ahead of them. Writers take this as the mark that Luke is describing the years the book of Acts records.
Mark, as well as Luke, gives special weight to the persecutions the disciples would have to endure. Luke says these persecutions take place before the signs among the nations. They are, therefore, persecutions of the early Christian days. The book of Acts shows us they happened as soon as the new message of salvation was preached.
Commentators differ on how far these words reach. Some limit them to the first century. Others expect the same faithful sufferers again at the close of the long era that opens with Jerusalem's fall.
Jerusalem's troubles began with the siege of the city by the Roman general Titus, and they will not end till the times of the Gentiles have run their course. At the beginning of those troubles, and in their closing days too, there will be real disciples of Christ on earth. They will have to bear testimony in the face of direct opposition from their countrymen the Jews.
The verse names two different powers. The synagogue was the religious court of the Jewish people. The prisons, kings and governors were Gentile. One commentator draws out what that mix means, and how it marks Luke's account off from Matthew's:
In Luke's gospel the prophecy relates to the events before the Roman army destroyed the temple and the city. Here "the gospel of the kingdom" is not named. And the text does not say the persecution comes especially from the Gentiles. It comes from Jews and Gentiles alike. The difference is important. It helps to show that the prophecy in Matthew relates, not to the events before the siege of Jerusalem, but to the troubles before the day of the Lord — the same period the book of Revelation speaks of.
The history that follows shows every part of the verse coming true. Arrest, prison and trials before rulers all came fast. The result was not what the persecutors wanted.
The disciples would go to prison and stand before Gentile kings and rulers for the sake of the name of Christ. This became true very soon after the Lord Jesus returned to glory. But the Lord used this persecution in a way men did not expect. He made it a testimony to Himself and to the gospel of His grace… We see this in Peter and John (Acts 4:13-14); in Stephen (Acts 6:8-10; 7:1-60); and in Paul (Acts 22:1-21; 24:24-25; 26:1-31).
The Lord gives the reason for all of it in four words. He does not say they will suffer for their mistakes, their tactlessness, or their politics. The cause is His name — their link with Him. One commentator points the logic the right way round:
To be Christ's is enough to stir up the world's anger. Circumstances may be needed to call it out, but it is there… The world hates us because of Him, not Him because of us. It is not our faults, then, that are the true cause, but His grace and moral excellence, His divine nature and glory.
The verse is a prediction, but its purpose is practical. He tells them in advance for two reasons. When the arrest comes, they will not read it as the collapse of everything. And they will know what to do with it.
The Lord does make predictions. He foretells (1) the rise of false Christs, (2) wars and unrest, along with strange events in the physical world around them, (3) the coming of bitter opposition and persecution, even to death. But in each case His warnings arm His disciples in advance… They are to accept the persecution as an occasion for testimony. And when they testify, they are not to rely on a prepared defence, but on supernatural wisdom given to them when the moment arrives.
- Before — the persecution runs ahead of the wars and signs. That sets it in the days the book of Acts records, though some writers see it repeated at the end of the age.
- Both — Jewish and Gentile hands alike: synagogue courts and Roman prisons, religion and state together.
- Because — the stated cause is His name. The hatred falls on the disciple because of the Master, never on the Master because of the disciple.
- Beforehand — He tells them first. So the arrest comes as something their Lord predicted, not as proof He has failed them.
- Beyond — God turns the persecution into testimony to Himself before kings. Peter, Stephen and Paul each proved it.
but it shall turn out to you for a testimony.
Jesus has just warned His followers about arrest, prison and trials before rulers. Then He turns the whole picture around: the courtroom is not the end of their witness but the place for it.
Older translations read, "it shall turn out to you for a testimony." One writer traces that word, and finds Paul later resting on it:
The word translated "turn out" appears in one other place in the New Testament in just this sense. That is Luke 21:13, where the Lord Himself tells His disciples that when men lay their hands on them, and deliver them up to synagogues and prisons, "it shall turn out to you for a testimony." You will recall how much Luke was with Paul. We may suppose he had told him of these words of our Lord Jesus. If that is the case, Paul also had the Lord's own words to rest on for the certainty he speaks of. And what a blessed certainty His words are!
Matthew records the same promise. One writer shows where the arrest carries the message:
When they were whipped and brought before councils and governors and kings, all this should become a testimony to them. It is God's way of presenting the gospel of the kingdom to kings and princes. And it does so without changing the character of that gospel, without adapting it to the world, and without mixing up the Lord's people with the world's ways and its false greatness. What is more, circumstances like these made their testimony far more visible than being linked with the great ones of the earth would have done.
Writing on Luke's account, the same writer places the promise among Jesus' instructions for the days ahead:
The Lord then turns to the duties and the circumstances of His disciples before that hour... He goes into much more detail about their ministry during that period. He encourages them, and promises them the help they will need. Persecution should turn to them for a testimony.
The promise was not left as a general comfort. The book of Acts supplies the receipts.
The disciples would be imprisoned and brought before Gentile kings and rulers for the sake of the name of Christ. This became true very soon after the Lord Jesus returned to glory. But the Lord used this persecution in a way that men did not expect, for a testimony to Himself and to the gospel of His grace... We see this in Peter and John (Acts 4:13-14); in Stephen (Acts 6:8-10; 7:1-60); and in Paul on various occasions (Acts 22:1-21; 24:24-25; 26:1-31).
Luke's account is not just a shorter copy of Matthew's. One writer dates the persecution from the words that open verse 12:
In Luke, the persecution comes before the fighting and unrest mentioned in the earlier verses. Our Lord's words are, "But before all these things they will lay their hands on you." This distinction agrees with the facts. The great persecution of the Christians by the Jews was not during the civil wars that ended in the fall of Jerusalem. It came before them, and this is what Luke is referring to. On the other hand, the great persecution of the faithful Jews by the Gentiles, which is what Matthew speaks of, will happen during the terrible wars and upheavals before the Lord's glorious appearing.
Commentators differ over how far the passage reaches. One writer ties it to the years before the Roman siege of Jerusalem. He also notes that Luke states the results of their testimony in broad terms, "which would be true in the highest sense" (William Kelly).
Jesus warns them in advance, and the warning shapes how they are to meet the trouble:
In each case His warnings arm His disciples in advance... They are to accept the persecution as an occasion for testimony. When they testify, they are not to rely on a prepared defence, but on supernatural wisdom given to them when the moment arrives.
One writer applied the same words to a church in serious trouble:
We need the force of the words, "All these things shall turn to you for a testimony." I was told a church was in great difficulties. I said I would take heart, because these are just the kind of difficulties Peter and Paul had. I would rejoice in them as something that would help the Church through the wilderness.
- Turn. The word Jesus chose points to an outcome men did not expect: the attack itself is what gets turned, and Paul later rested on these same words of His.
- Warned. He tells them beforehand, so they meet the arrest as a chance to testify and not as a disaster.
- Reach. The turn carries the gospel to kings and rulers no messenger could reach otherwise. It arrives unchanged, without borrowing the world's greatness.
- Fulfilled. Peter and John, Stephen and Paul show the promise coming true, in the years before Jerusalem fell.
- Today. Difficulties that look as if they will stop the work are the same kind Peter and Paul faced. Take heart in them.
Settle therefore in your hearts not to meditate beforehand [your] defence,
Jesus has just warned His disciples about arrest, trial and betrayal, and promised that it will all turn into a chance to witness. Now He asks for a decision made in advance: walk into the courtroom with no speech prepared.
The Lord gives the command before the crisis comes, so the crisis finds them already decided. One writer sums up what the disciples are to do when persecution arrives:
They are to accept the persecution as a chance to bear witness. And as they bear witness, they are not to rely on a prepared defence. They are to rely on wisdom from God, which He will give them when the moment comes.
The instruction is not that words do not matter. God promises a better source of words, and that source is stronger than the hatred waiting for them:
But if believers were arrested and had to face the Jewish council or the magistrates, they were not to decide in advance how to answer the charges, or what to say. The same Spirit of God who empowered Christ would empower them and guide their words. For the grace of God is greater than the strongest opposition of hatred.
Each Gospel writer reports this promise differently. Luke's version puts the gift in the Lord's own hands, and ties it to the situation then closing in on Jerusalem:
All of this applies strictly to the state of things before the Romans besieged Jerusalem, both in the world and among the disciples. Any fair-minded reader must see it. Luke alone shows the grace of the Lord in giving His own a mouth and wisdom that goes beyond the cunning and power of every enemy. In Mark they are to say "whatever is given you in that hour, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit."
The book of Acts shows the promise working. A crowd of opponents took on Stephen by himself, and not one of them could beat him:
Alone he could face his opponents, and defeat them. "They were not able to withstand the wisdom and the Spirit with which he was speaking" (Acts 6:10). They did not convince him, and they could not silence him. They could not resist the wisdom he showed, or the Holy Spirit by whom he spoke. The Lord had promised, "I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which none of your adversaries will be able to withstand or contradict" (Luke 21:15). And the writer who preserved that promise here tells us how truly it was fulfilled. One man could confound a multitude.
Commentators are careful about how far the words reach. One writer keeps them for the men who first heard them, and contrasts what happened to them with what lies ahead for Jewish believers in the last days:
This was a special promise given to the disciples. We see it fulfilled again and again, in a striking way, in the Acts of the Apostles. But there is nothing to show that such will be the case with the Jewish believers in the last days. They will be silenced, driven out and almost destroyed. Only the sudden and glorious appearing of Christ will save them from being wiped out completely. In Matthew there is nothing at all matching this part of the prophecy as Luke records it.
Commentators differ on how far the verse reaches into everyday Christian service. One warns against using it as an excuse for unprepared preaching, and then shows where it does still hold:
Whenever it can be done, a person should think about and study the subject he expects to speak on. It is no mark of spirituality to take no thought about how or what we will speak. We do not believe that is a correct use of the Scripture. The Lord gave that promise in a very different setting. There He assures His disciples that they will never be deserted when they face kings and rulers for His name's sake... The same holds when someone has no way of knowing in advance what he will speak about, or when an unexpected opening for the gospel comes.
Another writer carries the same help from the courtroom into everyday service:
There was no need for them to plan their defence beforehand. The Holy Spirit would give them the words to speak in the hour of need. The same was true of their ministry. They could rely on the help of the Spirit of God, whether they were making known the gospel of the grace of God, or opening up and applying the truth to God's people.
- Settle — decide before the arrest ever comes. Then the trial finds the heart at rest, not scrambling for a defence.
- Given — in place of a rehearsed speech the Lord Himself promises a gift: a mouth and wisdom no enemy can answer.
- Distinctive — only Luke shows the Lord Himself giving the promise. In Mark, the Holy Spirit speaks the words.
- Proved — Acts shows the promise kept. Stephen alone silenced a whole crowd of opponents.
- Bounded — writers tie the promise first to the disciples in the days before Jerusalem fell. They differ over how far it reaches preaching today.
for *I* will give you a mouth and wisdom which all your opposers shall not be able to reply to or resist.
The Lord warns His disciples about the days ahead — arrests, trials, hostile courts — and tells them not to prepare a defence. Instead He promises words of His own, and no opponent will be able to answer them.
What men meant as an attack, the Lord turned into testimony.
But before these things, the disciples would suffer bitter persecution. It would come from the hatred of religious Jews. They would go to prison and stand before Gentile kings and rulers because of the name of Christ. This became true very soon after the Lord Jesus returned to glory. But the Lord used this persecution in a way men did not expect, for a testimony to Himself and to the gospel of His grace.
Luke alone records the Lord's own words here: He Himself gives both the mouth and the wisdom. Mark's account of the same promise puts it differently.
Luke alone shows the grace of the Lord. He gives His own a mouth and wisdom greater than the cunning and power of all their adversaries. In Mark they are to speak "whatever shall be given you; for you are not the speakers but the Holy Spirit."
The wisdom comes from God, not from the speaker. And Stephen was not the last to receive it.
God does provide the weapons with which, if called upon, His people may meet those opposed to Him. The Lord promised to provide them (Luke 21:15). So Stephen proved that the Lord keeps His word. His enemies could not resist the wisdom and spirit with which he spoke (Acts 6:10). In this he does not stand alone, for the Lord still cares for His people.
Stephen stood alone against a crowd of opponents. His case shows what the promise looks like in practice.
Numbers were on their side. He is the only one named as fighting bravely for the truth. But their numbers did not overawe him... They could not convince him. They could not silence him. And they could not resist the wisdom he showed, or the Holy Spirit by whom he spoke. "I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which none of your adversaries will be able to withstand or contradict" (Luke 21:15), had been the Lord's promise. And the evangelist who preserved that promise shows us how completely it came true. One man could confound a multitude.
Israel's religious leaders met the same surprise in Peter and John.
The leading teachers of Israel's schools of learning might well marvel. They saw "the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men" — untrained in what this world counts as knowledge. They also "recognized that they had been with Jesus."
Some stretch these words into an excuse for unprepared preaching. Commentators warn against that.
Wherever possible, one should think about and study the subject he expects to speak on. It is no mark of spirituality to give no thought to how or what we shall speak. Nor do we believe it a correct use of Scripture to expect the Lord to keep a promise He gave in a quite different setting... Here He is assuring His disciples that He will never desert them when they stand before kings and rulers for His name's sake.
The promise belongs to the courtroom, not the pulpit.
People misapply it when they use it of preaching the gospel. It does not refer to any service for the Lord. It was to save the disciples from anxiety at their trial.
Commentators differ on whether this promise stretches beyond the first disciples. One reading limits it to them:
This was a special promise to the disciples. We see it fulfilled again and again, in striking ways, in the book of Acts. But nothing shows that the same will be true for Jewish believers in the last days. They will be silenced, banished, and almost destroyed. Only Christ's sudden and glorious appearing will save them from being wiped out completely.
Another reading carries it forward to witnesses who come later.
The Lord's words to His apostles in Matthew 10 and Luke 21 will have a special reference to them. They will go out to speak with "a mouth of wisdom" that He will give them.
- Pressure. The Lord promised arrest and trial, then turned that pressure into a chance to testify before kings and rulers.
- Gift. No one prepares these words in advance. Luke alone records the Lord saying that He Himself would supply the mouth and the wisdom.
- Weapon. God hands over the weapon at the moment of need. He did it for Stephen, whose opponents could neither convince him nor silence him.
- Limit. The promise steadies a believer on trial. It is not an excuse for stepping into the pulpit unprepared.
- Reach. Commentators differ. Does the promise stop with the first disciples, or reach later witnesses too?
But ye will be delivered up even by parents and brethren and relations and friends, and they shall put to death [some] from among you,
The Lord has been telling His followers what their witness will cost. Now the threat moves inside the home, and for some of them it ends in death.
One writer lists the subjects of this prophecy in order. The suffering in this verse falls under the second of them — the testimony of the disciples.
The prophecy has three subjects. First, the troubles of Jerusalem that came from the Lord's rejection by the Jews. Then the testimony of the disciples that followed that rejection, and guidance for them while they are in their sorrows. Last, the whole thing ends with the Lord's second coming, which will bring deliverance to the city and the nation. Jerusalem's troubles began with the siege of the city by Titus, and they will not end until the times of the Gentiles have run their course. At the start of those troubles, and again in their closing days, there will be real disciples of Christ on earth. They will have to bear witness while their own countrymen the Jews openly oppose them.
Family betrayal is what sets Luke's account apart from Matthew's. One writer compares the two accounts, and points to who the persecutors were in each.
The early Christians were not hated by the Gentiles as Gentiles, but by all men, whether Jews or Gentiles. In fact their chief sufferings and persecutions came from the Jews… Luke is foretelling what the early Jewish Christians would suffer at the hands of their own countrymen and closest relatives. His prophecy simply describes what took place soon afterwards… Matthew, however, speaks of a very different persecution. It comes from the Gentile oppressors of the nation, before the Lord's coming in power. So Matthew leaves the family division out.
The verse lists parents, brothers, relatives, then friends. One writer traces this hatred to what happens in a heart when God makes Himself known.
As long as God is not revealed, people tolerate everything. But when He reveals Himself, man's will rises up against His authority. It rises against the pressure that this revelation puts on a conscience which is not at rest. And the closer the relationship, the greater the hatred. This hatred breaks all the ties of nature.
The Lord does not soften it. Some of them would die, and the promise about the hair of their heads does not cancel that.
Many of them would know the deep pain and trial of betrayal by even close relatives, and some would suffer death as martyrs… Yet in the face of such dreadful affliction He told them not a hair of their heads would (eternally) perish. The eternal end was secure. That does not mean none of them would die, for the Lord said some would die as martyrs (v.16).
Read verse 16 beside verse 18 and the two sound like a contradiction. The Lord does not promise escape from the executioner. He promises a care that reaches past him.
In Luke 21:16-18 the Lord says their enemies would put some of them to death, yet not a hair of their head would perish. They were all counted. God has all providential power at His disposal.
The same writer admits the words strike the ear oddly, and does not explain the strangeness away.
It seems strange to us to hear, "Some of you shall they cause to be put to death … but there shall not a hair of your head perish."
One writer draws the two halves together — the hatred, and what endurance would win.
Yet the hatred against them would be so fierce that it would break through all natural ties. It would turn the strongest affections into the bitterest enmity… Through it all not a hair of their heads would perish. He who has counted them all would give a good account of them. By endurance they would gain their lives, instead of losing them.
- Nearest first. The betrayal moves inward from parents to friends. The closer the bond, the fiercer the hatred once God makes Himself known.
- History, not theory. Luke describes what the early believers suffered from their own countrymen and relatives. Matthew's account leaves family division out and speaks of a different persecution.
- Death, not defeat. Some of them would die as martyrs. Even so, not a hair of their heads would perish.
- Counted, not spared. The Lord promises no shield from the sword. He has counted every hair, and He will give a good account of them all.
- Endurance wins. By holding out they would gain their lives instead of losing them.
and ye will be hated of all for my name's sake.
Jesus warned His followers what lay ahead. Families would betray them. Some would die. And hatred would meet them everywhere, for one reason: His name. Three questions follow. Why does that name draw such hatred? How far does "all" reach? And when did this happen?
The hatred has nothing to do with the disciples' faults. The Lord points instead to whom they belong.
Notice that in these verses the Lord traces the world's hatred of His disciples to one thing: they belonged to Him. They were His servants, and the servant is not greater than his Lord. "If they persecuted Me," He said, "they will also persecute you." The world would not hate them because they were law-breakers, or because of anything objectionable in their character, but because the Lord had chosen them out of the world to be His own.
Persecution for right living is one thing. Persecution for Christ's name is another. One commentator marks the step up:
Confessing Christ brings persecution. Spreading only His moral teaching might well be popular with Jews and Gentiles alike. Before Christ came, and ever since, we should expect persecution for righteousness' sake. But notice the step forward from Matthew 5:10 to the next verse. In the first verse, the persecution is "for righteousness' sake." In verse 11 it is plainly for Christ's sake. Here His own honour is at stake.
The hatred starts further back. It begins when God makes Himself known, and it grows sharper the closer the relationship.
The revelation of God in the person of Christ, or in the preached word, awakens the enmity of the human heart. As long as God is not revealed, people tolerate everything. But when He reveals Himself, man's will rises up against His authority. It rises against the pressure this revelation puts on a conscience that is not at rest. And the closer the relations are, the greater is the hatred. This hatred breaks all the ties of nature. Brother would give up brother to death, and the father his son. The children would rise up against their parents and put them to death. And all men would hate the disciples for the Saviour's name.
Matthew reports the same warning as "hated by all nations." Luke says only "all." One commentator shows what that difference means.
Matthew, speaking of the persecution of the faithful witnesses before Christ's coming, says, "Then they will deliver you up to tribulation and put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations for my name's sake." Believing Jews will suffer this in the last days for their testimony to the coming Messiah. But it is not an accurate account of what the early Christians endured. It was not that the Gentiles hated them as Gentiles. All men hated them, whether Jews or Gentiles. In fact their chief sufferings and persecutions came from the Jews.
One commentator ties Luke's warning to the years before the Roman siege of Jerusalem.
All of this applies strictly to what happened before the Romans besieged Jerusalem, both in the world and among the disciples. Any fair mind must see it.
If the name is the cause, the warning has not expired. Religion in general still passes; Christ Himself does not.
You may speak of religion in a general way — of preachers, of churches, of missions to people who have never heard, of societies for doing good — and be popular. But speak of the Lord Himself, of His precious blood, of the full assurance of salvation, of oneness with Him in heaven, of separation from the world, of standing apart from all its shows and entertainments. Then your friends will quickly grow fewer. Who were the most bitter enemies of the Lord and His servant Paul? The most religious men in Israel. Has the world or human nature changed? We believe not.
Peter and John met this hatred head on. It did not crush them.
The Jewish Council had forbidden them to speak or teach in the name of Jesus. But they obeyed God rather than men, and went on with their blessed work. After a miracle set them free from prison, they were arrested again, beaten, and ordered not to speak in the name of Jesus. Were they disheartened or daunted by what they had to endure? Far from it — they left the Council rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for His name.
- Name — The hatred is not earned. It falls on the disciples because they belong to Christ.
- Person — Suffering for right living is one thing. This is for Christ's sake, and it touches His own honour. His moral teaching alone would have stayed popular.
- Nearness — When God reveals Himself, man's will rises against Him. The closer the natural tie, the sharper the hatred — so families split.
- All — Luke's "all" is wider than Matthew's "all nations." Jew and Gentile alike hated the early believers, and most of their suffering came from their own people.
- Honour — Beaten and silenced, the apostles left rejoicing. They were counted worthy to suffer shame for that name.
And a hair of your head shall in no wise perish.
The Lord has just warned His followers that their own families will hand them over, and that some of them will die. In the same breath He promises that not a hair of their head will perish. How can a man lose his life and lose nothing at all?
Commentators tie this promise to a specific stretch of history: the persecution the first believers met before Roman armies destroyed Jerusalem. Kelly, having gone through the whole passage, says the fit with that period is unmistakable.
All of this applies strictly to the state of things before the Romans laid siege to Jerusalem, both in the world and among the disciples. Any fair mind must see it. Luke alone shows the grace of the Lord in giving His own a mouth and wisdom beyond the cunning and power of every enemy.
The pressure came from close to home. Baines names who inflicted it.
Luke is foretelling what the early Jewish Christians would suffer at the hands of their own countrymen and their nearest relatives. His prophecy simply describes what took place soon afterwards.
Verse 16 sits next to verse 18 with a jolt. Darby admits the strangeness, then shows how God governs His people now.
God's government does not work now in a way that keeps the righteous from suffering — least of all when they suffer for the name of Christ. But Jehovah watches over him. Not a sparrow falls to the ground apart from our Father. It seems strange to us to hear, "Some of you they will put to death … but not a hair of your head will perish." God's government now is not the public rule that puts down all evil. It is applied to the case of the righteous under and through the power of evil. When Christ appears, evil will be put down. As a rule, those who live peaceably will live in peace. But in a world where Satan has power, the righteous will suffer and have many afflictions — none of them without the watchful care of the Lord. And in some way deliverance will come.
The resolution offered is that the promise reaches past the grave. Losing the body is not the same as perishing.
The disciples of the Lord Jesus would in fact be the object of the hatred of all mankind in general. How contrary to their expectations of the arrival of the kingdom! Yet in the face of such dreadful affliction He told them not a hair of their heads would (eternally) perish. The eternal end was secure. This does not mean that none of them would die, for the Lord said some would die as martyrs (v.16). In fact, since then all the disciples have died, but they were to have no fear of the most bitter persecution.
The hairs were all counted. Darby draws out who holds the power behind such events.
In Luke 21:16-18 the Lord says some of them would be put to death, but not a hair of their head would perish. They were all counted. Providential power is all at God's disposal.
The promise does not remove suffering. It changes whose hand controls it — and that is the comfort being offered.
Trusting in the Lord is perfectly sure. A divine and almighty hand secures us. We know from many passages that the Lord may see fit to let us suffer, but not a hair of our head shall perish. When His time has come, the rod of the wicked shall not rest on the lot of the righteous. He may let us suffer for our God, or for His name's sake. But even then it happens according to His own will and power, not according to the will and power of the wicked. All this assumes someone who is walking in His ways.
The same writer states it as a general principle.
God's care never fails. It shows itself in the smallest details, and it holds despite all that man may think. God may allow many afflictions to come on those who trust Him, and these too will surely be a blessing.
- Counted. God numbers every hair. What He counts, He takes charge of.
- Permitted. Enemies act only as far as God allows. Suffering comes by His will, not by theirs.
- Measured. The promise does not cancel the pain. God still allows affliction, and He turns it into blessing.
- Eternal. Some would die as martyrs, yet nothing of them would perish for ever. Enemies may take the body; the end is secure.
- Historical. These words first met disciples whose own families betrayed them, in the years before Jerusalem fell. Real persecution tested this comfort first.
By your patient endurance gain your souls.
Jesus has just warned His followers about arrest, betrayal by family, and even death — then He ends the warning with one short sentence about endurance. What does He promise them here: their lives now, their eternal safety, or something else?
The "patience" spoken of here is not calm waiting but a quality tested under load. One study of the Greek word traces it through the New Testament and finds its centre in something that holds up:
The word hupomone (from hupomeno, "to sustain") appears once as "enduring" (2 Corinthians 1:6) and as "patient continuance" (Romans 2:7). That fully enters into the thought of the word: it is a "patient endurance" that does not give way under trial and suffering. See Luke 8:15; Luke 21:19… and the phrase "the one who endures to the end," Matthew 10:22 and Matthew 24:13… Romans 15:5 traces it back to its divine source for us. Scripture never applies it to God Himself, because there could be no such testing or pressure for Him. But the Lord Jesus, in the place He has taken as Man, is our perfect example of it, Hebrews 12:2-3 — He "endured" the cross and the hostility of sinners against Himself.
Does the verse promise something gained, or something kept? One writer says the verb can mean holding on to what you have. He ties the promise to the real danger these men faced:
On Luke 21:19: although ktaomai generally means "get," in contrast with kektemai, it is also used for keeping in possession — holding something so as not to lose it. (Acts 4:34; 1 Thessalonians 4:4; Matthew 8:9; Luke 18:12.) It refers directly to being spared, kept by God, saved in the dangers of the mission they had among the Jews.
Commentators differ on the wording, and the disagreement runs down to a single letter in the Greek manuscripts:
In Luke 21:19 the Revisers have adopted a reading and a rendering at least questionable. A B are but slender authority for κτήσεσθε, as against κτήσασθε differing only by one letter; and their own rendering of 1 Thessalonians 4:5 sustains the Authorised Version, "possess," against their own "win" here.
Does the promise mean survival now, or blessing after death? One writer finds the same double hope in a psalm:
The immediate hope would be of preserving life; but it would meet those who might be killed with the fullest and most secure hope. It is the same in Luke 21:19, "gain your lives" (older translations: "gain your souls"), and in Matthew 24:13. The ambiguity there is intentional too.
Jesus is describing what these men would meet before the Roman armies besieged Jerusalem. Yet one writer sees the closing promise reaching further:
All this applies strictly to the state of things before the Romans besieged Jerusalem, whether in the world or among the disciples. That must be clear to every fair mind. Luke alone shows the grace of the Lord in giving His own a mouth and wisdom beyond the cunning and power of all their adversaries… Luke also states in broad terms the result of their testimony, which would be true in the highest sense for heaven if they were killed.
This kind of patient holding on belongs to a particular stretch of time — the stretch in which God is still being witnessed to by people. One writer sets it against a coming period when that will no longer be so:
Jesus had said, "By your endurance you will gain your lives" (Luke 21:19) — a position of faithfulness while the testimony lasts. There will be a time when God alone will testify of Himself, when no one gives Him any testimony at all. It will be a testimony of vengeance, because man has despised His power and His righteousness.
One writer puts into words what the world says when it watches Christians it cannot break:
What can we do with people who let themselves be killed without becoming less joyful — people whom it makes even more joyful? Left to themselves, they are above all our motives. If we oppress them, they possess their souls in perfect joy despite all our opposition. Torments do not conquer them. They find in them only an occasion for bearing a stronger testimony that Christians are beyond our power.
- Pressure — the verse follows warnings of arrest, betrayal and death. This endurance does not give way under trial and suffering.
- Patience — Christ shows the same quality perfectly. He endured the cross and the hostility of sinners; He is the example, not a distant rule.
- Possession — the verb can mean keeping what you already hold, not earning something new. It points to God sparing and keeping them in real danger.
- Preservation — the promise leaves it open on purpose: God may keep your life now, or bless you later. Either way it still holds for those who are killed.
- Proof — this endurance lasts as long as the testimony lasts. A watching world has no answer to it and no power over it.
But when ye see Jerusalem encompassed with armies, then know that its desolation is drawn nigh.
Jesus had just said the temple would be pulled down. The disciples asked when this would happen, and what sign would come first. Luke records this answer: an army around the city. Anyone could see that sign, and see it in time to escape.
Matthew, Mark and Luke all record this discourse. Only Luke names an army around the city. That detail ties the words to an event in history, not to the distant future.
Only Luke has this. So he speaks of armies surrounding the city, which was true then. He does not speak, as Matthew and Mark do, of the abomination of desolation, which can only be proved true in its closing agony. The siege our Lord describes, with all that came out of it, cannot be a future event. What follows it is the humiliating hold on the Jewish capital by one nation after another, until the allotted seasons of Gentile supremacy end.
This is the direct answer to what the disciples asked.
This is the clear reply to the only part of the disciples' question that Luke records. Jerusalem surrounded by armies was to be the sign that its desolation was near.
Many readers treat this verse and Matthew's warning about "the abomination of desolation" as the same event. Commentators place the two at different points in Daniel's prophecy of the seventy weeks.
When they saw Jerusalem surrounded by armies, they could know that its desolation was near. This is still a very different thing from the "abomination of desolation" that Matthew and Mark speak of. That one is tied to the middle of the last week of Daniel, while this one comes between the sixty-ninth and the seventieth week of the same chapter: "And the people of the prince who is to come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary" (Dan. 9:26). There is no excuse at all for confusing two things so different, when the gap between them is stated so clearly.
Some critics have read Luke as merging the two events. Kelly answers that Luke is the very writer who keeps them apart.
Schmiedel claims that Luke himself, in his own mind, treated Titus's desolation of Jerusalem as the same thing as Daniel's "abomination." That only shows how little that critic understands the plan of Old Testament prophecy. As the Expositor points out, it is typical of Luke that he kept the two apart.
A sign is only useful if people can see it and act on it. These people did.
Nothing can be simpler. The prediction is exact. The directions match exactly what the Christians living in the city did when Titus's army approached Jerusalem. There is no call to special haste, and in fact there was no occasion for special haste. Every reader knows what followed. The Christians, warned by this prophecy, left the city. The city was destroyed, and its people were either killed or carried off into slavery.
Where they went is on record.
The Christians, remembering the Lord's warning, left Jerusalem together before the siege closed in. They travelled to Pella, a village beyond the Jordan. There they stayed until Hadrian allowed them to return to the ruins of their ancient city.
The destruction was not an end in itself. It opened a long stretch of history that has not yet closed.
Then those who believed the words of Jesus did flee to the mountains, and so escaped the horrors of the siege. Then began the "days of vengeance" for the Jew. They will not stop until everything foretold has come true. Then started the long captivity, which has continued and will continue, with Jerusalem under the feet of the nations, until the times of the Gentiles end. Those times began when God raised up Nebuchadnezzar, who took the throne from the last king of David's line. They will end with the crushing of Gentile rule at the appearing of Christ.
This judgment had a cause. The commentators trace it back to the blood the city had shed.
Upon the guilty city, stained with the blood of the prophets, and now to be stained with that of their glorious King also, days of vengeance were coming.
- Sign — Luke alone reports armies around the city. Matthew and Mark report the abomination of desolation. The sign given here was one ordinary people could see with their own eyes.
- Sequence — Daniel 9:26 places the city's destruction between the sixty-ninth and seventieth weeks. The abomination belongs to the middle of the last week. That gap keeps the two events apart.
- Sparing — Those who believed the warning left for Pella and lived. The warning came early enough that they needed no panic, only obedience.
- Sentence — Those who stayed were killed or carried off into slavery. The "days of vengeance" fell on a city stained with the blood of the prophets and of its King.
- Stretch — What the siege began still runs on. Jerusalem is trodden down through the times of the Gentiles, which started with Nebuchadnezzar and end only when Christ appears.
Then let those who are in Judaea flee to the mountains, and those who are in the midst of it depart out, and those who are in the country not enter into it;
Armies around Jerusalem were the signal. This verse is the order that follows: three groups of people, each told which way to move.
Commentators tie this warning to a dated event, not to the end of the world. The signal Luke gives is not the one Matthew gives.
Here the Lord Jesus gives us a very direct and immediate picture of the destruction of Jerusalem, which was then close at hand. Matthew passes by the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans. He fixes attention on what will take place at the end of the age... He says, "When you see Jerusalem surrounded by armies, then know that its desolation has come near. Then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains." He does not say "the abomination of desolation" — not a word about that here, for it belongs to the last days only.
Why the mountains? One writer points to the hills that ring the city. The same writer notes that the tone here is calmer than Matthew's parallel warning.
Is it surprising that danger in Jerusalem at two different dates should have the same way of escape? The ring of mountains around the city makes that way especially fitting. The directions, however, in the two cases are not the same, though similar. In Luke there is a command that those in Judea were to go to the mountains, and that those in the country were not to enter in. Yet there is no note of alarming urgency here. In Matthew we find one, at the setting up of the abomination of desolation. There, delay of even an instant is forbidden.
The two passages sound alike, so readers mix them up. Kelly traces a common misreading back to that mix-up.
The effort to apply the abomination of desolation to the Romans under Titus, or to the Pope, is utterly vain. The first of these probably comes from confusing Matthew 24:15 with Luke 21:21. Luke alone brings in the Roman siege and captivity, since he alone deals with the times of the Gentiles.
The order here is to run, not to stand firm. The reason is what God was doing to that city.
The days of vengeance fell on Jerusalem, when the Lord's murderers were destroyed and their city burnt. In that smaller case there was no question of suffering as a privilege. It was a retributive dealing of God. So the Lord told those who listened to His words to escape as soon as they saw Jerusalem surrounded by armies.
The warning was not just words on a page. Some people acted on it, and there is a record of where they went.
This unhappy people had plenty of time to be warned. If they had listened to the voice of their Messiah, they could have been saved... Obeying this command, the Christians left Jerusalem and settled at Pella. So they escaped the doom about to fall on this guilty people.
Pella lies in the Jordan valley, not in the hills. Some critics say Luke reshaped the prophecy to fit events already past. Kelly answers that this mismatch points the other way.
"Flee to the mountains." Wellhausen, like others, says Luke brought the prophecy "up to date." But these words support a date before AD 70, because the actual flight was to Pella, in the Jordan valley.
A warning is useless to anyone who does not believe the person giving it. Darby presses that point.
What was the use of the Lord warning the disciples in advance to flee in such and such circumstances? It would be no use if they did not understand what He was speaking about, and did not believe His word beforehand. It was exactly this knowledge and this faith that set them apart from all their unbelieving countrymen.
- Sign. The marker in Luke is armies around Jerusalem, not the abomination of desolation. Matthew leaves that out, and it ties this verse to the Roman siege.
- Order. Three groups get three instructions: leave Judea for the hills, get out of the city, stay out of the city — no route back in.
- Pace. There is no note of alarming urgency here. The flight that allows no delay belongs to Matthew.
- Escape. These were days of God's retribution on the city. So the godly were to get clear, not to stay and suffer. Those who obeyed settled at Pella and lived.
- Faith. The warning only helped those who believed it in advance. That faith was the one thing that set them apart.
for these are days of avenging, that all the things that are written may be accomplished.
Jesus is telling His disciples what is about to fall on Jerusalem. He gives the coming siege a name: days of vengeance. Two questions follow. Which siege did He mean? And which written words did it fulfill?
Luke's account describes armies surrounding the city. Matthew and Mark record a different sign. Commentators use Daniel's prophecy to place this siege in time.
Days of vengeance were coming on the guilty city, stained with the blood of the prophets and now to be stained with the blood of their glorious King as well. When they saw Jerusalem surrounded by armies, they could know that its desolation was near. That is a very different thing from the "abomination of desolation" that Matthew and Mark speak of. That sign belongs to the middle of the last week of Daniel, while this one falls between the sixty-ninth and seventieth in the same chapter: "and the people of the prince who is to come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary" (Dan. 9:26). There is no excuse for confusing things so different, when Scripture states the interval between them so plainly.
Luke's Gospel uses one word for God's merciful visits to His people. The word in this verse is a different one.
Luke 7:16 — "Visited." Compare 1:68 and 19:44, where it also means a merciful visitation. The word for "visitation" in the sense of vengeance is ekdikēsis, as in Luke 21:22.
The blow did not fall at once after the death of the Messiah. Commentators stress the long patience that came first.
I need not stay to tell you how completely this solemn prediction came true. Jerusalem fell soon afterwards. God, in patient grace, waited a little; He did not destroy it the day after the death of His Son. No — for sixty years He waited on His rebellious people, who first rejected their Messiah and then resisted the Holy Spirit (Acts 7:51-52). At length He sent out His edict.
The Lord did not announce something new. He said the pages already written would be filled out, and history supplies the measure of it.
Everyone knows how terrible these days of vengeance were. Josephus gives the number of those killed in the siege as 1,000,000, and those carried away captive as 97,000. The complete fulfilment of our Lord's words is a matter of common history.
This verse gives the reason for a set of instructions. Those who believed Jesus obeyed them and got out in time.
The prediction is exact. When Titus's army approached Jerusalem, the Christians living in the city followed exactly these directions. This passage calls for no special haste, and in fact none was needed. Every reader knows the rest. The Christians, warned by this prophecy, left the city. The city was destroyed, and its people were either killed or carried into slavery.
Commentators differ on the scope. Some read the phrase as covering the siege of AD 70 and its immediate aftermath. Others hear in the plural "days" a long age that is still running.
This day of vengeance on Israel as a nation extends, in a sense, right through these present "times of the Gentiles." The crisis in the latter day gives its character to the whole period. They are all "days of vengeance," as the Lord calls them here. Yet a special season and visitation is still to come at the close — "the day of vengeance," as the prophet calls it (Isa. 34; Isa. 63).
Earlier in the same Gospel, Jesus read from Isaiah aloud and stopped short.
He ends His reading with the words "to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." He closed the book in the middle of a sentence, because Isaiah adds "and the day of vengeance of our God." In this way He separated the two events very pointedly... But the day of vengeance had not yet come. Old Testament Scripture gave no sign that the preaching of grace would run for a long time before the day of vengeance came. Yet it has now continued for nearly 2000 years.
- Written first. Nothing in AD 70 came as a surprise. The siege carried out what Scripture had already written, including Daniel 9:26.
- Written, then warned. The written words let Jesus give exact instructions: see the armies, leave the city. Those who trusted Him acted in time.
- Written, then fulfilled. The word vengeance here is not the merciful visiting of Luke 1, 7 and 19. It is a different word for a different visit, and the casualty figures show how exactly it came.
- Written, then delayed. The full day of vengeance is real but still held back. Jesus closed Isaiah's scroll before that line, and the year of God's favor has run ever since.
- Written, and still running. The days of vengeance run on through the times of the Gentiles, and a special visitation still waits at the close.
But woe to them that are with child and to them who give suck in those days, for there shall be great distress upon the land and wrath upon this people.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And they shall fall by the edge of the sword, and be led captive into all the nations; and Jerusalem shall be trodden down of [the] nations until [the] times of [the] nations be fulfilled.
Jesus stood near the temple in its final days. He told His hearers what was coming on the city that had rejected Him: the sword, exile, and long centuries under foreign rule. One sentence covers it all, and it ends with a word that sets a limit — "until."
Three Gospels record this prophecy. This part of it belongs to Luke alone.
Luke 21:20-24 holds truth that is not in Matthew or Mark. It plainly predicts the coming destruction of Jerusalem, and the great distress that would fall on the land and on this people. Only Luke says they would be led captive into all the nations. Only Luke gives the remarkable sentence, still in force, that Gentiles would trample Jerusalem until their appointed times are complete... This fits the plan of the third Gospel, which leaves out the abomination of desolation and the tribulation like no other, both so prominent in the two Gospels before it. From verse 25 on, Luke joins the other two writers in describing the time of the end.
The words landed on real events. Roman armies under Titus took the city, and captivity followed.
This came true in what happened to the Jews when Titus took the city and "this people" went into captivity for the second time... And so it happened. For many centuries Gentiles have trampled Jerusalem. One national power after another was to hold the holy city. It is still so: the trampling goes on, because the seasons given to the Gentiles are not yet complete.
The phrase "the times of the Gentiles" is not in the book of Daniel. It is the Lord's own expression, and He does not date its start from His own rejection.
The expression "the times of the Gentiles" is not found in the book of Daniel. It is a New Testament phrase, and only our Lord used it... Now, the times of the Gentiles did not begin when Jerusalem rejected the Lord who came from heaven. Our Lord does not say they were brought in then. They started with the Babylonian captivity under Nebuchadnezzar. The glory of the Lord departed from Jerusalem.
That start marks a transfer of authority.
God was patient with Israel for a long time. Then He set the house of David aside and sent it into captivity. He handed the power to govern for Him to the Gentiles, and the times of the Gentiles began with Nebuchadnezzar... Three other empires followed Babylon, and the times of the Gentiles still go on, under one form of government after another. They will run on until God, in His own time, gives supremacy in the earth back to His ancient people.
The Gentiles are the nations other than Israel. The phrase is about who is on top and who is underneath.
"The times of the Gentiles" points to Gentiles on top and Israel pressed down. He is looking ahead over this whole age. In verse 24 He calls the whole age "the times of the Gentiles" — the Gentiles rule, and Israel has no land or inheritance in the earth.
Commentators differ over how the modern State of Israel fits this. Some read the Jewish return as a sign that Gentile control is loosening and "the times of the Gentiles are nearly over" (A. J. Pollock). Others point to the nation's long suffering since it rejected its Messiah, and say that holding the city today settles nothing, because another trampling is still to come.
Because they rejected and crucified their Messiah, the Jewish nation has suffered centuries of being "trampled underfoot by the Gentiles" (Luke 21:24). At the present time the Jews have possession of Jerusalem. A nation of Israel exists, and it makes its mark on world affairs. They are there in unbelief. Their troubles are not over yet, and the city will again be overrun by the Gentiles: "they will trample the holy city for forty-two months" (Rev. 11:2).
God never leaves His judgement on Israel open-ended.
Whenever God speaks in His Word about judgement on Israel, He always sets a limit to it with an "until." So Romans 11:25 tells us that "a partial hardening has come upon Israel, until the fullness of the Gentiles has come in." Luke 21:24 sets the same kind of limit for Jerusalem... "The fullness of the Gentiles" means the present Christian company. "The times of the Gentiles" means the period when the Gentiles hold power, which started with Nebuchadnezzar some six centuries before Christ.
The next verses say what happens when that limit runs out.
"Immediately after the tribulation," when the times of the Gentiles close, the Son of Man will come in person. We know these times are still running: the Gentiles still trample Jerusalem. But that trampling will end, and the Lord will come to deliver Israel.
- Cause. God took government from the house of David and handed it to Nebuchadnezzar. The "times of the Gentiles" began there, not at the cross.
- Course. Empire has followed empire ever since, with Jerusalem passing from one national power to the next.
- Confirmation. Titus fulfilled the first half of the verse exactly: sword, captivity, and scattering into all nations.
- Contrast. Luke alone records this Roman siege; Matthew and Mark pass over it and go straight to the final crisis.
- Close. "Until" is the mercy in the sentence. God has measured Gentile rule, and it ends when the Son of Man comes.
And there shall be signs in sun and moon and stars, and upon the earth distress of nations in perplexity [at] the roar of the sea and rolling waves,
The Lord has spoken of Jerusalem trampled by the nations; now He widens the view to the sky itself. Two questions follow: when do these signs come, and are they events in the heavens or pictures of something else?
The Lord had already spoken of the siege and capture of Jerusalem by Roman armies. That came true. What verse 25 describes has not. One commentator makes the small word "and" the hinge, and compares it to a famous break in Isaiah.
"And there will be signs," that is, of the revealing of Christ's presence. The "and" introduces a separate account. It works like a special use of the Hebrew conjunction. Isaiah 61:2 gives one of the most striking examples of this in the Old Testament. The Lord used that passage on the occasion described in Luke 4:16-19. He stopped before the words "and the day of vengeance." … In passages that look disjointed like this, a long stretch of time may come between the events. So it is here, between verses 24 and 25.
The same writer marks the change of subject. Nothing earlier in the chapter hinted at trouble in the heavens.
There was not a word of all this when He spoke of the siege and capture of the city under Titus. The domination of the nations is not over yet. When it ends, there will be signs in sun and moon and stars, and distress of nations.
Do these signs happen in the sky, or do they stand for something else? Commentators differ. One holds both at once:
There seems good reason to believe that these signs are physical. Yet matching signs appear in the political world too, as the book of Revelation shows. At such a time God's mercy multiplies His calls to men to give heed to what He is doing. Nature seems to share in human sorrow, and that appearance gives whatever support there is to the fables of astrology. In this way man twists the goodness of God into his own ruin.
Another writer takes the words as pictures. His clue is the roaring sea at the end of the verse.
Then the passage reveals the state of things at the close of the rule of the Gentile nations — signs in sun, moon, and stars; on earth, distress of nations with perplexity; the sea and the waves roaring. That last phrase makes me think the words are figures here, though there may also be real signs in the sky.
The verse also names the roaring sea. One writer says who the sea stands for, and finds the same restlessness in today's news.
"The sea and the waves" mean the peoples. We read in Isaiah 57:20, "But the wicked are like the tossing sea; for it cannot be quiet, and its waters toss up mire and dirt." How true this is! A glance at the newspaper is enough to prove it. … "The sun, moon and stars" mean the rulers of the nations. … Then every form of government is overthrown, with complete confusion resulting. Men are preparing for this now. They are refusing to be ruled.
Verse 25 pairs distress with perplexity. One writer names the cause of the confusion, and why the fixes never hold.
Man's sin and folly have created the confusion, but man is not able to clear it up. No difficulty is ever really settled. Politicians and others manage from time to time to put a patch on here and a patch on there. For the moment things look reasonable. Then come outbreaks that are more serious and more widespread.
Luke records something the other Gospels leave out: what these terrors do inside people. One writer sees God's hand even in that unrest.
Luke alone mentions the moral signs of men's anguish, despite the deceits and false claims of that day. No doubt there will be strong delusion, and people will believe what is false. But that is the very reason there is no rest and no contentment. Only the grace and truth of God in Christ can give peaceful enjoyment with a good conscience. So God will know how to trouble men's dreams and to break up Satan's ease.
Terrible times have looked like this before. One history tells of an age of famine and plague, when strange sights in the sky made people think the prophecy had come.
These words describe that time well, but the prophecy was far from fulfilled. Our Lord goes straight on to say: "And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory."
- Gap. The "and" of verse 25 can span a long stretch of time, just as Isaiah 61:2 does; Jerusalem's fall is past, these signs are not.
- Signs. Are the sun, moon and stars really shaken, or do they stand for rulers? Commentators differ, and some hold both.
- Sea. The roaring sea pictures the peoples in restless revolt, refusing to be governed.
- Perplexity. The trouble comes with no answer. Man made the confusion, and man cannot cure it.
- Test. One proof settles it: the Son of Man seen coming in a cloud. Until then, alarming times are not the fulfilment.
men ready to die through fear and expectation of what is coming on the habitable earth, for the powers of the heavens shall be shaken.
In this verse the Lord describes a state of mind, not an event. He tells His disciples what people will feel while the world around them falls apart. Two questions press: when does this happen, and what are "the powers of the heavens" that get shaken?
Commentators place this verse long after the Romans destroyed Jerusalem. It comes at the close of the long period when Gentile powers rule. The earlier part of the chapter deals with the siege; verse 25 opens a new scene.
Next, He introduces the last days. There was not a word of all this when He spoke of the siege and capture of the city under Titus. After the rule of the Gentiles is over — and it clearly is not yet — there will be signs in the sun and moon and stars, and distress of nations.
Luke's account reaches past the outward signs into what people will think and feel. That knowledge has a purpose.
Luke alone has preserved this: what people will be feeling and thinking in that terrible time when the Lord's return in power is close at hand... He who foresees future events also knows beforehand what His creatures will then be feeling and thinking. So there can be a prophetic ministry to meet the need of God's people at that time — the Psalms are full of this — as well as a prophetic description of the thoughts of others at that time.
People in that day will not lack things to believe. Belief will not give them rest.
It is Luke only who mentions the moral signs of men's anguish despite the deceits and pretensions of that day. No doubt there will be strong delusion and the belief of falsehood. But for this very reason there is no rest or contentment. Only the grace and truth of God in Christ can give peaceful enjoyment with a good conscience. So God will know how to trouble men's dreams and to break up Satan's ease.
The terror is not about what has already struck. It is about what is on the way.
People were astounded because they could not see the end. They trembled as they were dragged along toward some unknown, terrible conclusion. For principles were at work, in ways they did not understand, dragging them along whether they wanted it or not.
An older translation reads "ready to die through fear" — fainting that goes as far as collapse.
The stated reason for the panic is the last clause of the verse. One writer explains the phrase in a short parenthesis.
for the powers of heaven — the sources of the way things stand on earth — will be shaken.
God Himself does the shaking.
This is the moment when God is going to shake the heavens as well as the earth, as Haggai predicted. Only the things that cannot be shaken will remain. All will lead up to the public appearing of the Son of Man in power and great glory.
One writer says the moment itself has not yet come, though its principle already shows. He hears confidence and dread in the same generation.
Progress, success, the long run of a new development of human nature — this is the language of those who mock at the Lord's coming. Yet beneath it all, what fears for the future are gripping and weighing down the heart! I use the word "principles" because I do not believe that the moment the Lord speaks of has come yet. But the shadow of coming events falls on the heart. Blessed are those who belong to another world!
The very next verses tell believers to do the reverse of what this verse describes. Fainting hearts and lifted heads face the same events.
For them it means a final redemption, when all creation will be set free from its bondage to decay. That being so, the first signs of His advent are to fill us with glad anticipation. We are to "look up," for the next movement that really counts is to come from the right hand of God, where He sits. We are to "lift up our heads," the opposite of hanging them down in depression or fear. The very things that frighten the world are to fill the believer with the optimism of holy expectation.
- Shaken — God shakes the sources of authority above the earth. Only what cannot be shaken survives.
- Feared — the shaking is still ahead, not past. People collapse under dread of a future they cannot see or stop.
- Recorded — Luke alone preserves what people will feel, not just the signs in the sky.
- Foreshadowed — the moment itself is still future. Its principle already shows: loud confidence in progress, deep fear underneath.
- Reversed — the same events that make the world faint are the believer's signal. Look up and lift your head: redemption is near.
And then shall they see the Son of man coming in a cloud with power and great glory.
The Lord has been describing a world in terror — distress of nations, people fainting with fear, the powers of heaven shaken. Then comes a sight, and with it three questions: when is this "then," who are the "they," and why does He come as Son of Man?
The Lord has already spoken of the city's capture and of the long period of Gentile rule after it. This verse belongs to the end of that period, not to the siege long ago.
Next, He introduces the last days. "And there will be signs in sun and moon and stars." There was not a word of all this when He spoke of the siege and capture of the city under Titus. The Gentile domination is clearly not over yet. After it ends, there will be signs in the sun and moon and stars, and distress of nations. People will faint with fear, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory — not when the Romans took the city long ago, but in the future crisis, when God gives these astonishing signs in heaven and on earth.
The Lord does not say "you will see." One writer takes the roaring sea as a picture rather than a bare event, and marks the change of pronoun.
The sea and the waves roaring — that expression shows, I think, that the words are figurative, though there may be portents too. And then they (not "you," but they, these proud, rebellious Gentiles) will see the Son of Man coming in a cloud.
Clouds appear all through Christ's going and coming. Scripture is careful about the small words it uses with them.
Christ is nowhere said to come with the clouds to gather His own. On the contrary, they go up in the clouds (1 Thessalonians 4:17). These are the royal carriages provided to carry us from earth to meet the Lord. The cloud of old was the well-known symbol of Jehovah's presence with His people (Exodus 13:21; 40:34-38; Luke 9:35). But notice, Christ is not only said to come in the clouds (Mark 13:26), but with them (Revelation 1:7), and on them (Matthew 24:30). The clouds that attend His coming are symbols of His majesty (Psalm 18:9-12). He sits on them as on His throne (Matthew 24:30). He ascended in a cloud (Acts 1:9), and will come in a cloud (Luke 21:27).
The title matters. It explains both why men treated Him with contempt and why judgment belongs to Him.
It is as Son of Man that the Lord Jesus will sit on the throne. No doubt He will show His divine knowledge in judging. But, as He says plainly, the Father has given Him authority to execute judgment, because He is Son of Man. As Son of God He gives life; as Son of Man He will judge. How solemn! Had He been only Son of God, who would have dared to despise Him? It was His grace, then, in becoming man to save men that exposed Him to contempt in His path of lowly obedience and suffering in love. If they insulted Him in His work of grace, how will it be when He executes judgment, and this as Son of Man?
Scripture uses two words for the Lord's return. They do not cover the same ground.
The "coming" of the Lord means His presence, in contrast with His absence. It is a wide word. It reaches from what many of us call the "rapture" of the saints, to be "forever with the Lord," on through the interval that follows, until His appearing with His saints in glory. The word "coming" (parousia) takes in both thoughts. The "appearing" (epiphaneia) is the shining out of His coming, when He will be displayed in glory to the world. That word "coming" is often used for this event, the "appearing"; but this last word is never used for the "coming."
The same sight will not mean the same thing to everyone.
God will know how to trouble people's dreams and to break up Satan's ease. Their horror will reach its height at the sight of the rejected Lord, the Son of Man, coming in a cloud with power and glory. But there will be those on earth then — disciples tested by the evils of that day. For them, even the beginning of these troubles and the signs of change for the world will be the sure herald of deliverance.
- Then. The moment is still future. It comes after Gentile rule ends. The Lord said nothing of these signs when He described the siege under Titus.
- They. Not "you" but "they." The proud, rebellious nations will see Him come, not the disciples in front of Him.
- In a cloud. He went up in a cloud and returns in one. Scripture also says with the clouds and on them. They are symbols of His majesty, and long before they marked God's presence with His people.
- Son of Man. He judges under the very name in which He was despised; as Son of God He gives life, as Son of Man He executes judgment.
- Two reactions. The same sight brings horror to those who rejected Him. To tested believers it is the sure sign that deliverance is coming.
But when these things begin to come to pass, look up and lift up your heads, because your redemption draws nigh.
Jesus is describing the end of the age: nations in terror, and the Son of man coming in a cloud. At that very point He turns to His own with a command that reverses everything — "straighten up and raise your heads," or, as older translations put it, "look up and lift up your heads."
Roman armies did destroy Jerusalem, and some read the whole chapter that way. But one writer argues that this verse cannot belong to that event:
As though to rule out any chance of reading all this as the destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans, our Lord says, "when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads, for your redemption draws near." He clearly distinguishes between "these things," which mark the close of the days of vengeance, and the other things which were to mark their beginning. The destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans was surely no sign of approaching redemption!
The same events mean opposite things for two groups of people on the same earth:
God will know how to trouble men's dreams and to break up Satan's ease. Their horror will reach its peak at the sight of the rejected Lord, the Son of man, coming in a cloud with power and glory. But there will be others on earth then, disciples tried by the evils of that day. For them, even the beginning of these troubles and the signs of change for the world will be the sure herald of deliverance.
The Lord gives them a direction to look and a posture to hold:
We are to "look up," for the next movement that really counts is to come from the right hand of God, where He sits. We are to "lift up our heads," the opposite of hanging them down in depression or fear. The very things that frighten the world are to fill the believer with the confidence of holy expectation.
Heads droop for reasons every believer knows:
Much can make the head droop and the heart wither a little now: the power of temptation, sorrow of various kinds, seeing sin all around. But once the head is lifted up at the day of redemption, it is lifted up for ever.
One writer reads "your redemption" against the background of Israel's jubilee, the fiftieth year:
It is nothing but the work of the Lamb of God that can lead to any joy or deliverance among us. The precious blood is all our title. And so the jubilee and redemption are connected. When the Lord here says, "Your redemption draws near," He was looking out to this jubilee of Israel and the earth. The jubilee was God's redemption of His land and people. Suppose no kinsman could be found who was able or willing to do this beforehand. Then God Himself, in the fiftieth year, would use both His rights and His resources on behalf of His oppressed land and enslaved people.
So the coming of the Son of man is good news, not only terror:
The earth's destruction is not what is meant here. What is meant is the blessing that comes after the end of the age, when God ends the time of man's wickedness and misery and trouble and suffering. The coming of the Son of man is never linked with the end of the world in that sense. It is linked with the close of Satan's misrule and the shining out of the kingdom of God.
One writer sees two applications in the verse — one for Israel, one for us now:
Verse 28 can have its application both to the believing remnant of Israel in the time of the tribulation and to ourselves now. For the first application, their redemption will be the freeing power of the Son of Man. He will set Israel free from her ages of bondage. In the second case (taking place earlier) our redemption will be of our bodies at the Rapture (Rom. 8:23).
One writer draws out what such looking does to a life:
When you see these things, do not be disturbed, look up, do not look down, for your redemption draws near. I do not deny that dark times are coming. But may this only make us look up like Stephen, and see the glory that is also coming! This would separate us from all that is contrary to the purity, holiness, and love of the Lord Jesus.
- Begin — the signal is the beginning of the final signs, not the Roman siege. That older disaster announced no redemption at all.
- Look — look up, not down. The next move that counts comes from where Christ now sits.
- Lift — temptation and sorrow bend the head now; the day of redemption lifts it for ever.
- Redemption — a jubilee word. God Himself steps in for an enslaved land and people, and the Lamb's blood is the whole title.
- Result — the sights that terrify the world lift the believer. That hope separates the heart from all that is unlike Christ.
And he spoke a parable to them Behold the fig-tree and all the trees;
Near the end of His last public teaching, Jesus speaks of wars, distress among the nations, and the Son of Man coming in a cloud. Then He points to something ordinary — a tree in leaf. The picture asks two questions: which tree, and what season is it announcing?
Commentators read the fig tree as a picture of Israel. One writer ties the verse to the nation's calling and its failure:
Sweetness and good fruit are what marked the fig tree in Jotham's parable. God chose Israel as a nation, out of all the nations, to bear fruit for Him. Luke 21:29 shows it: "Look at the fig tree, and all the trees." The fig tree is set apart from the rest. We see Israel's failure to answer all God's goodness when our Lord cursed the barren fig tree. This was the only miracle our Lord performed that did not bring blessing. It tells us that while grace and blessing are what God delights in, judgment must still find its place, for God is righteous and must uphold His name.
The other Gospels stop at the fig tree. Luke alone adds the wider phrase:
He gives a parable, but not of the fig tree only: that would not suit the largeness of Luke's scope. "Look at the fig tree and all the trees." Here is the difference between Luke and the others. It is not that his Gospel lacks the Jewish part. It is that he brings in all the Gentiles as well. How perfect it all is! Luke writes for the Gentiles, so he gives not only the fig tree found in Matthew, but the Gentile trees found nowhere else. That one tree clearly applies to the Jews as a nation; the other figure, "all the trees," adds the rest, so as to be universal.
These trees are not nations in general. They are the ones whose history is bound up with Israel's:
At the same time as Israel reappears in world politics, many of the powers Israel dealt with in the past will appear again... If the fig tree is Israel, "all the trees" stand for the powers that have to do with her. All must take up their positions to play the part assigned to them in the last scenes.
The cursed fig tree withered. In this parable the same tree comes back to life:
The Jew was God's fig tree, set on earth to bear fruit and to be a witness. He withered because he was barren. One day he will be broken in heart and will turn to the Lord. The branch becomes tender and puts out leaves in the power of a renewed life. Then the summer, the harvest, the end is near — at the doors.
One writer sees the fig tree already shooting, and names the season it points to:
They were scattered, as Luke told us they would be, and now they are gathering in the land again. The fig tree is shooting... The trees do seem to be putting out their leaves. The summer surely is already near; and there is no summer apart from the Kingdom of God.
Commentators differ over the timing. Some read the budding of a future day only. Then, one writer says, "the appearance of the godly remnant in the middle of the nation of Israel, which has turned away from God, will signal the near approach of the time of blessing for the nation" (Hamilton Smith). Others hold the future reading and still allow a present one:
The mark of the fig tree is that fruit and leaves are there together. As soon as the branch becomes tender, the fruit is found. It is a rapid development. This is the lesson here. Israel's blessing, new life, fruit and glory will quickly be realised in those end days... There is another application: that we now see Israel like a budding fig tree, with signs of new national life. Taken as a sign of the times, this is certainly not wrong. It tells us of the nearness of the end.
- Tree — The fig tree is Israel, chosen among the nations to bear fruit for God, and judged when it bore none.
- Trees — Luke alone adds "all the trees." The sign widens to the Gentile powers bound up with Israel. Each must take its place before the last scenes.
- Bud — The withered tree buds again. The sign is a nation broken in heart, turning to the Lord in new life.
- Summer — In the fig tree, fruit comes with the leaves; the buds announce the season, and there is no summer apart from the kingdom of God.
- Sight — The Lord points to what anyone can see. Commentators differ on whether the budding is wholly future or already visible. They agree on what it means: the end is near.
when they already sprout, ye know of your own selves, [on] looking [at them], that already the summer is near.
The Lord has just spoken of signs in the sun, moon and stars, and of the Son of Man coming in a cloud. Then He turns to something ordinary: a tree in spring. What do these trees stand for? And how does anyone "see for yourselves and know" that something is close?
Luke's version of the parable is wider than the others. One commentator ties this to the scope of Luke's Gospel, which keeps the nations in view alongside Israel:
He gives a parable, but not of the fig tree only: that would not suit the largeness of Luke's scope. "Look at the fig tree, and all the trees." Here is the difference between Luke and the others. His Gospel does not drop the Jewish portion; in addition, he brings in all the Gentiles. This evangelist for the Gentiles gives not only the fig tree which is in Matthew, but also the Gentile trees, which no other Gospel mentions. That one tree plainly applies to the Jews as a nation; the other figure ("all the trees") adds the rest, so that it becomes universal.
Nobody needs training to tell that spring has turned. The buds do the announcing:
The leaves on the fig tree, the Lord tells us in Matthew 24:32, give notice that summer is near; and so, He says, the things which He had been describing would give notice, when they came to pass, that the kingdom was near.
A tree in leaf is not yet a tree in fruit. One writer keeps the two apart:
The fig tree is no longer barren; for the Son of Man received, and the new covenant with Him, will change everything. These are early days; and we hear of no more than the branch becoming tender and putting out leaves. The time of fruit will come; but as yet they only know that summer is near.
What is the summer? One commentator answers, and adds how sure the Lord's word is:
The parable of the fig tree applies to the Jewish remnant of returned captives in the land. They were scattered, as Luke told us they would be. Now they are gathering there again; the fig tree is shooting. But Luke adds "and all the trees": in which we are apparently to see, in keeping with Luke's character, the revival of the nations making up Daniel's empires... Certainly the trees seem to be putting out their leaves. The summer surely is already near; and there is no summer apart from the Kingdom of God. Again we see, as in Matthew, how fast it will at last come on. The generation that sees the beginning will see the end. And here the Lord solemnly affirms that His word cannot change: though heaven and earth pass away, this will not.
So what if the trees are budding now? Another writer applies the sign to our own day and sets the events in order:
Even before the Rapture we see the beginning of the signs of the Lord's coming in glory, which will be later than the Rapture. For Israel has once again become a nation possessing her own land. The nations around her were for years almost unheard of and of little account. Now they have become militant and are pressing to the front for recognition. This great resurgence of national ambition tells us that the kingdom of God is near. If the millennial kingdom is near, the coming of the Lord for the Church (the Rapture) is at least seven years nearer.
Commentators differ on whether today's stirring among the Jewish people is the budding itself or only its first hint. One writer calls it the start of a sign that will be plain later, and a sign for those left after the Church is gone:
The first prominent sign is the one given in the "parable of the fig tree." This tree is an emblem of Israel, and the putting out of leaves may well point to a national revival of that people... Before Israel's false king appears, while the branch is still tender, there is a putting out of leaves, and this is a sign to the remnant. The movement called "Zionism," already begun among the Jews, feeble, undefined and tentative as it is, may be the start of what, after the church is gone, will become the putting out of the leaves of the fig tree.
- Two trees. The fig tree stands for Israel as a nation. Luke alone adds "all the trees," so the sign takes in the Gentile nations too.
- Budding. Leaves are a beginning, not a harvest. A tender, shooting branch says only that summer is near; the time of fruit is still ahead.
- Summer. The season the buds announce is the kingdom of God; there is no summer apart from it.
- Self-evident. You need no expert. Just as leaves give notice that summer is near, the events the Lord listed give notice that the kingdom is near.
- Nearer still. If the kingdom of God is near, the Lord's coming for His own is nearer still — at least seven years nearer.
So also *ye*, when ye see these things take place, know that the kingdom of God is near.
Jesus points to something anyone can read. Leaves on a tree tell you summer is near. In the same way, certain events tell you God's kingdom is near. But which events does He mean? And how can a kingdom that had already come still be called near?
Matthew's version of this parable keeps to one tree. Luke adds all the trees, and commentators see design in the difference.
Here is an instance of how exact Scripture is, even in its figures. Who but God could have thought of giving only the fig tree in Matthew, which speaks of Israel? In Luke we get the fig tree and all the trees, for there the Gentiles get mixed up in the troubles of Israel.
If the trees stand for peoples, then their "sprouting" is the sign to watch.
So we have every right to expect signs of life in Israel, and in the nations she has special dealings with. These signs come before the Saviour comes to earth to set up the visible kingdom of God. That great event is near, for no one can deny that remarkable movements are going on among these peoples.
The kingdom of God had already begun in a hidden form long before Jerusalem fell. So the nearness Jesus speaks of has to mean something else.
Now in what sense could the kingdom of God be near when Jerusalem fell? In its mysterious state, the state it exists in now, the kingdom of God had already come long before Jerusalem was destroyed. In that sense no one could call it near at hand then. But once these signs of Christ's second coming begin, the kingdom in its open display of millennial glory will be near at hand.
Commentators call that open display millennial glory — the time when Christ reigns over the earth. The difference is not in the kingdom itself, but in what people can see of it, and in what evil is still allowed to do.
Is it not clear, then, that the kingdom of God is coming in a sense different from what people look for and talk about? Its approach is real now to faith, but we do not see it. Then it will be manifest, and it will put down everything that sets itself against God. The yoke of evil will be broken then, which it is not now.
Commentators note that this verse can cover more than one crisis. The destruction of Jerusalem answered it in part. The full answer is still ahead.
So the Holy Spirit records here an expression which may apply to both: "you know that the kingdom of God is near." I have no doubt this had a certain accomplishment in the complete suppression of the Jewish order, but not its fulfilment. The coming of the Son of Man, after the signs of verses 25 and 26, will establish the kingdom of God.
The scale of the trouble settles the question. It is not confined to one city.
When they see these things happening, they are to conclude that the kingdom of God is near. He had spoken of the final, worldwide trouble for the whole inhabited earth, not just of what has happened to the Jews. The things seen here were signs, like the budding of the trees. So the kingdom of God plainly comes at the coming of the King, when the Lord God Almighty takes His great power and reigns.
Some writers see the budding in events already visible. From that they draw a further conclusion about the Lord's coming for the Church.
For Israel has once again become a nation possessing her own land. Other nations around her, for years almost unheard of and of little importance, have become militant and are pressing forward for recognition. This great resurgence of national ambition tells us that the kingdom of God is near. If the millennial kingdom is near, the coming of the Lord for the Church is at least seven years nearer.
- Sign. The fig tree pictures Israel as a nation. Luke adds "all the trees", which brings in the Gentile nations mixed up with her troubles.
- Season. Sprouting leaves say summer, and nobody has to explain it. Stirrings of national life in Israel and the peoples around her say God's kingdom is close.
- Kingdom. What draws near is not the hidden kingdom already here. It is the kingdom on open display, when the King comes and puts down every rival power.
- Scale. Verse 31 follows a worldwide trouble, not one city's fall. Commentators treat the fall of Jerusalem as a partial, early answer only.
- Watch. Read the season for yourself. If the summer of His open reign is near, everything that comes before it is nearer still.
Verily I say unto you, that this generation shall in no wise pass away until all come to pass.
The Lord seals His prophecy with a solemn promise about "this generation." People have argued over the words for centuries. Do they tie everything He has just said to the lifetime of the crowd in front of Him? Or does that word mean something else?
The strongest clue is where the sentence stands. It does not follow the warning about armies surrounding Jerusalem. It comes much later: after the trampling of the city, after the times of the Gentiles (the nations other than Israel) have run out, and after the Son of Man comes in a cloud.
When does the phrase "this generation" come in? After the Son of Man has already come in power and glory — not when they saw Jerusalem surrounded by armies. That is an important point to help in determining its true meaning. If "this generation" really meant a man's lifetime, such a place in the prophecy would not fit... So "this generation," if taken as a stretch of time, must cover eighteen centuries at the least.
Luke's account settles it. Only he records the long trampling of Jerusalem before the end. So no one can squeeze the same saying in Matthew and Mark into a single lifetime.
Few have weighed how fully Luke 21:32 settles the real meaning of those much-debated words... As long as people read them only in the light of Matthew 24 and Mark 13, there was room for doubt... So the clause seems to be meant in its full, unlimited strength. Luke has placed it where it makes every other application impossible.
Much of the difficulty sits in two words: "all" and "generation." How far does "all" reach? And must "generation" mean the years between a father and his son?
The word "all" must include everything mentioned in the verses before, and the close of the times of the Gentiles is one of these. So He cannot mean by "this generation" the people who were then alive. The times of the Gentiles have not yet run out, so the generation the Lord speaks of has not yet passed. It is the race, the nation, of the Jews that He names. The Greek word here translated "generation" is translated "nation" in other places. In Philippians 2:15 older translations read "a crooked and perverse nation"... Parkhurst notes that "generation" is also used for people of like quality and character, even when they are not of one place or age. We also have "the generation of the upright," "the generation of those that seek Him," "the generation of His wrath."
Read that way, the Lord is describing a moral character, not a calendar. He means the people who refused Him, and He says what will replace them.
Its force is moral. It is not exactly the nation of Israel, but that Christ-rejecting race who refused their Messiah then and refuse Him still. This will go on till all these solemn threats of judgment are accomplished... The Lord does not say that this generation will not pass away until the temple falls or the city is taken. He says, until all is fulfilled... He declares that this generation will not pass away till then. Only then will grace form a new generation, the generation to come.
Where these writers say "until all is fulfilled," the ESV reads "until all has taken place."
If the promise holds, the survival of the Jewish people is no accident of history. It is visible proof of the Lord's word. Nations far more powerful have vanished into other peoples.
They have come through troubles like no other people, and heavy discipline under the holy hand of God. They have borne the hatred and persecution of the boastful Gentile, east and west. Still they remain. Where is Moab? Where Edom, Assyria, Babylon? People may dig up the ruins of their palaces and fortresses. But as nations they are dead and gone... These words guarantee that Israel stays a distinct people to the end, until the whole prophetic word is fulfilled.
The fall of Jerusalem began what the Lord described. It did not finish it. And the same passage keeps that fall and His coming apart.
Fulfilment began at the destruction or treading down of Jerusalem — its desolation, vengeance and so on — and it continues still. A far fuller fulfilment comes at the close, before the coming of the Son of Man... Note also that this passage rules out applying "the coming of the Son of Man" to the destruction of Jerusalem. The long treading down has already come before it.
- Placement. The saying comes after the times of the Gentiles and the Son of Man's coming. It cannot mean the lifetime of the people listening.
- Meaning. "Generation" here is moral, not a stretch of time. The same word is translated "nation," and Scripture speaks of the generation of the upright and of those who seek Him.
- Scope. The Lord did not promise survival until the temple fell, but until all is fulfilled. Only then does grace form a new generation.
- Evidence. Moab, Edom, Assyria and Babylon are gone. Israel remains a distinct people — the prophecy still walking about in the open.
- Timing. Fulfilment began when Jerusalem fell, and a fuller one is still ahead. So never treat the fall of the city and the coming of the Son of Man as one event.
The heaven and the earth shall pass away, but my words shall in no wise pass away.
Jesus has just pointed the disciples to the sprouting fig tree as a sign that the kingdom of God is near. Then He rests the whole prophecy on something more lasting than the world it describes. Why measure His words against the end of heaven and earth? And what does that leave standing for anyone who trusts Him?
This is not a stray saying about the Bible in general. It seals the prophecy Jesus has just given and guarantees that every part of it will happen.
Christ has attached a very solemn warning to this prophecy: "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away." No doubt this applies to all His words. But He said it about this particular prophecy. So let us come to it with full regard for the warning the Lord has set over this scripture to protect it. The globe we walk on will pass away. The heavens will go like a scroll rolled up. But not one syllable of what the Lord Jesus said here will fail to come true.
The first half of the verse points to a real event. One writer places it at a fixed point, far beyond the events of the chapter.
Verse 33 goes far beyond the kingdom. It reaches to the passing away of heaven and earth at the time of the Great White Throne, some 1000 years later (Rev. 20:11). The words of the Lord Jesus will never pass away.
On any other lips this claim would be absurd.
"Heaven and earth will pass away" — and the voice is that of the Lord and Maker of heaven and earth — "but my words will not pass away."
His words carry this weight for a second reason too: where they came from.
We are told that the "words" He spoke, He received from the Father. He was so perfect as Man in His dependence on the Father that He said, "The Father who sent me has himself given me a commandment — what to say and what to speak." Again we read, "For he whom God has sent utters the words of God." So nothing could be more truly from God than the words He spoke. It is no wonder, then, that He should say, "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away."
One writer traces the contrast back to the difference between what God made and what God did in His Son.
This is the mystery the Lord has before Him when He says, "Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away." Creation could be removed. Redemption — the work of the Word — cannot be moved, because the living God has joined Himself to it. And so the prophet, speaking to Jesus the Son, says, "Of old you laid the foundation of the earth, and the heavens are the work of your hands. They will perish, but you will remain." All things that are made may be shaken (Heb. 12:27), for God Himself is not joined to them; He is not their foundation.
If the verse is true, then a person's faith rests on better ground than the ground under his feet.
Is this not exceedingly sweet for us to think about! The child of God knows he has a foundation for his faith more stable than heaven or earth. The Lord speaks of His own words; the word of the Lord endures forever. However much people may try to detract from the word of God, by His grace may we hold fast all God has given to us. Here it is the Lord's own words, but the whole word of God has a divine character.
That firm ground matters for anyone unsure whether God has forgiven them.
You know you have sinned and want your sins forgiven, and you are asking, How am I to know that they are forgiven? On what ground? I do not know any trustworthy ground except God's holy word, and having this, you need not fear all the powers of Satan. There is no power in this world, or under this world, which can destroy the imperishable word of God.
- Sanction. The verse is a seal stamped on the prophecy Jesus has just given — every syllable of it will be fulfilled.
- Speaker. The one announcing the end of heaven and earth is their Maker, speaking words He received from the Father.
- Timing. The passing of heaven and earth is a real, dated event, placed at the Great White Throne, long after the kingdom comes.
- Contrast. Creation can be removed; redemption cannot, because God has joined Himself to it.
- Ground. So faith rests on something firmer than the planet, and on that word a person can know his sins are forgiven.
But take heed to yourselves lest possibly your hearts be laden with surfeiting and drinking and cares of life, and that day come upon you suddenly unawares;
After a long prophecy about wars, Jerusalem, and the Son of Man coming in a cloud, the Lord turns from events to the heart of the listener. Two questions follow: what weighs a heart down, and whose day arrives like a trap?
One writer notes that the things named here are not scandals. They are daily necessities pushed out of proportion:
Verse 34 is negative. It deals with the most common hindrances to a walk with God — the undue emphasis put on eating and drinking, and the cares of this life. How easily we slip into a state that seeks only to satisfy our own appetites, while matters of intense, eternal importance are left knocking at the door! Of course eating and drinking are necessary, but is it that for which we live? Should the cares of this life, the many details of living, so occupy us that we are loaded down with them?
The danger goes further than distraction. A heavy heart sinks into the world, and that day falls on people who have put down roots here:
He then tells them that, as people living on earth, they must be watchful. Their own hearts could be weighed down with things that would sink them into this world — the very world in which they were to be witnesses. For that day would come as a snare upon all those who had their dwelling here, who were rooted here.
Drunkenness here reaches wider than the glass. One writer finds the same numbing power in things the world calls respectable, even admirable:
We know the intoxicating power of this world's schemes and operations. We know how the human heart gets swept away, as if on the surface of a fast current, when such things come before it. Schemes of improvement, commercial operations, political movements — yes, and popular religious movements too — all of these produce on the human mind an effect like the one Nabal's wine produced.
A heart can be loaded from two directions. Dread of world events hides the coming day just as pleasure does:
No doubt those three verses — 34, 35, 36 — have special application to believers who will be on earth just before His appearing. But they have a great voice for the believer today. Many pleasures surround us, and we may easily become overloaded with too much of them. On the other hand, there were never more and greater dangers on the horizon. Our hearts may be loaded with dread, so that we lose sight of the day that is coming. We can be so taken up with the doings of dictators and the progress of world movements that the coming of the Lord fades from our minds.
Some read this whole chapter as fulfilled when Rome destroyed Jerusalem. The worldwide reach named in the next verse rules that out:
How could the destruction of Jerusalem come "as a snare on all who dwell on the face of the whole earth"? No; it is of His own actual, personal return, at the close of the times of the Gentiles, that our Lord speaks.
That day is described as a trap because it is a surprise to those it falls on. Commentators draw a sharp line between that arrival and the way the Lord comes for His own:
His day will surprise all who dwell on the face of the whole earth like a thief in the night. But He meets His heavenly ones with quite other thoughts, for in mind and spirit they are already in the place He comes from.
If the danger is a dulled heart, the cure is soberness. It means more than staying away from drink:
"Sober" means that quietness and seriousness of mind, that solemn feeling, which the Spirit of God produces in the hearts of those who take in the character of the approaching end of all things. On the other side, it is a mind freed from the intoxicating influences of this scene. It shows itself in the absence of all flippancy, and in the reverence that comes from walking before God with a sense of how short the present time is, and of the coming judgments. Notice, too, that the Lord, just as Peter does, presses constant prayer upon His disciples.
- The weight. Not scandalous sin, but food, drink and daily worries filling the space that belongs to what lasts forever.
- The root. A heart weighed down has settled here, and that day falls like a trap on those who make the earth their home.
- The two loads. Pleasure dulls, and dread crushes — both make the coming day disappear from view.
- The day. Its reach over the whole earth marks it as the Lord's personal return, not the fall of Jerusalem. It catches the world by surprise, but He meets His own with other thoughts.
- The lift. Soberness is a mind freed from this world's pull, and constant prayer keeps it there.
for as a snare shall it come upon all them that dwell upon the face of the whole earth.
Jesus widens His warning far beyond Jerusalem. The day He speaks of comes as a snare and falls on people everywhere — which raises two questions: what day is this, and who gets caught?
The day comes as a trap, and a trap only works while nobody sees it:
Snares to be effective must be hidden. It is useless to set a net where a bird can see it; in the same way the hook in fishing is always concealed. The baits that Satan uses are things that men like. They may not always be moral evils in themselves — riches, honour, and the like. But they may end in the loss of the soul.
The bait is not scandal. It is normal life.
The words sound like plain geography. One commentator reads them instead as a description of character:
The special rejoicing is on the part of the dwellers on the earth, that is, the earthly-minded... In other words, to "dwell on the earth" is not a vague description of men. It expresses a moral condition.
This is not the moment when the Lord gathers His own. It is the day of the Lord falling on the ungodly world:
Our Lord Himself warned His hearers to take heed in case that day should come upon them unawares. In all these passages, as in 1 Thessalonians 5, it points to sudden and overwhelming judgments carried out on the wicked. Those judgments open the way for Christ to set up His earthly kingdom by power. The contrast is sharp. The descent of the Lord Jesus into the air was presented to the Thessalonian believers as the crown of all their hopes. This day of the Lord comes "as a thief in the night" on the whole world of the ungodly. In one case the Lord comes to gather His saints; in the other, to strike His enemies. And the saints are taught about the first, so that they may know for certain that they are exempt from the terrors of the second.
The snare closes on people who are fixed in place:
He then tells them that, as living on earth, they must be watchful. Their own hearts could grow heavy with things that would sink them into this world — the world in the middle of which they were to be witnesses. For that day would come as a snare upon all those who had their dwelling here, who were rooted here. They were to watch and pray, in order to escape all those things, and to stand in the presence of the Son of man.
Commentators differ on who the warning is for. One applies it to believers who will pass through the coming tribulation:
The warnings against carousing, drunkenness and the cares of this life apply directly to those going through the future tribulation. They are to watch and pray always. The aim is that they may be counted worthy to escape the things that threaten all around them, and at the end to stand before the Son of Man. At that time those believers will be kept through the tribulation, while the Church will be kept out of the hour of it (Rev. 3:10).
Another accepts that setting, and still presses the words on readers today:
No doubt those three verses, 34, 35, 36, have a special application to believers who will be on earth just before His appearing, but they have a great voice for the believer today. Pleasures of every kind surround us, and we may easily take on far too many of them. On the other hand, there were never more and greater dangers on the horizon. Our hearts may grow heavy with dread, so that we lose sight of the day that is coming.
- Hidden. A snare only works while nobody sees it. The bait is something people want, and often nothing wrong in itself.
- Settled. It catches the earthly-minded: people rooted here, who have made this world their home.
- Whole. It reaches the whole earth — sudden judgment on an ungodly world. It is not the Lord's coming to gather His own.
- Weighed. The way into the snare is a heart sunk by pleasure or by dread, until the day arrives with no warning.
- Watching. The way out is to watch and pray, to escape these things and stand before the Son of Man. That word fits believers in the coming crisis, and believers now.
Watch therefore, praying at every season, that ye may be accounted worthy to escape all these things which are about to come to pass, and to stand before the Son of man.
The Lord's warning about the last days closes with a duty, not a date: watch, pray, and stand. Two questions run through it. What escape does He promise here, and who must pray for it?
Commentators read the escape as rescue on earth, not removal to heaven:
The Lord gave His disciples what they needed then. He also gave it in the written word for similar times still to come. Still, though the principle is always true, verse 34 clearly applies to a day still to come on the earth. The privilege is to escape the judgments and stand before the Son of man. This again is earthly, not being caught up to heaven.
Another writer says plainly what that escape does and does not mean:
Those who pass through those days, and especially the suffering remnant of Israel, are called to watch and pray always. They are not called to pray that they may be taken out of the hour of trial. They are called to pray that they may escape the things that come to pass. To escape here means to come through the whole tribulation alive, "and stand before the Son of Man."
The title at the end of the verse belongs to His appearing in glory, not to the catching up of believers to heaven:
The Lord speaks of "the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory" (v. 27). The title "Son of Man" never refers to the rapture. It refers to His appearing in glory. The Lord is speaking of people who will pass through the tribulation on earth. If they are faithful, they will escape the snare of this antichrist and at last stand before the Son of Man.
Older translations read "accounted worthy" here, while the ESV follows another reading, "may have strength." One writer notes both, and takes the standing as a review, not a sentence:
"Praying … may be counted worthy" (or, on another reading, "may be strong") "… to stand (be set) before the Son of Man." … This is not a judgment in the sense of John 5:24. It is the occasion when our Lord gives out reward or loss to those of the House of God. He holds His first examination then, reviewing the life of each disciple.
Commentators differ here. Some read the standing as the survivor's place on earth before the returning Son of Man. This writer reads it as a review of each disciple's life.
Neither command works on its own:
Knowledge by itself is not power. We need to be kept in the dependent attitude of prayer, if we are to carry out the exhortations in practice. … Persevering in prayer means more than turning to God in some special need. It means a habit of depending on Him. … The Lord warned His disciples to watch and pray. It is useless to pray about a particular temptation, or snare, if at the same time we do not watch against it.
The verses just before name what makes the command urgent:
He then tells them that, since they live on earth, they must watch. Their own hearts could be weighed down by things that would sink them into this world — the very world in which they were to be His witnesses. For that day would come as a snare on all who had their home here, who were rooted here.
One writer puts the verse's first application in a future day, yet hears it speaking now. Two dangers pull at us: pleasure on one side, dread on the other:
No doubt those three verses, 34, 35, 36, apply in a special way to saints who will be on earth just before His appearing. But they have a great voice for the believer today. Pleasures of every kind surround us, and they may easily overload us. On the other hand, there were never more and greater dangers on the horizon. Dread may weigh our hearts down, so that we lose sight of the day that is coming. … Then we shall be wide awake, and ready to greet the Lord when He comes.
The Lord names the Person, but not the place. One writer sees room in that silence for something better than the hearers could have guessed:
They were to watch and pray, so as to escape all those things and to stand in the presence of the Son of man. … To be with Him, as those who have escaped from the earth, and to be among the 144,000 on Mount Zion, will be one fulfilment of this blessing. But the place is not named. So, if the people He was speaking to proved faithful, the hope His words awakened would reach something better still — His heavenly presence in the day of glory.
- Snare — that day springs as a trap on everyone rooted in this world.
- Watch — stay awake to the danger; praying about a snare you refuse to watch is no use.
- Pray — knowledge is not power; only dependence on God carries the command into practice.
- Escape — here it means coming through the trouble on earth alive, not being lifted off it.
- Stand — the goal is a Person, not a place: the Son of Man Himself, with the hope left open to something better.
And by day he was teaching in the temple, and by night, going out, he remained abroad on the mountain called [the mount] of Olives;
Luke 21 closes by stepping back from the great prophecy to show the shape of Jesus' days in that last week. Why did the Messiah spend His nights on a mountain instead of in Jerusalem, and why does Luke record it at all?
These verses are not another event in the story. They describe a settled pattern that ran through the whole week.
The closing verses are a summary of our Lord's manner or habit at this time. His nights were spent on the Mount of Olivet. By day He taught in the temple, where all the people came early to hear Him. This is what led several copyists to insert the paragraph from John 7:53 to 8:11 here. But there is no real ground for moving it.
The prophecy was finished, but the teaching was not. Luke sums up the rest of the week in one line, then tells us nothing of what was said.
The prophecy was ended, and that day's teaching, as far as Luke's record of it goes, was now concluded. But the Lord's unwearied service still went on… How well this short statement fits the grace that so marks this gospel! The Lord taught daily those who wanted to hear Him. But of anything said to them after what we have read, Luke gives not a word. The Light of the world was soon to be put out of it.
He did not leave the city each evening by choice. He had no home to go to.
In the closing verses of the chapter, Luke reminds us that He who foretold His coming again was still the rejected One. By day during that last week, He diligently spoke the word of God; at night, having no home, He stayed on the Mount of Olives.
Grief did not turn Him inward, and it did not stop His work.
He spoke little of His own sorrows, but much of the sorrows of others. When He saw the city, He wept over it. But He taught in the temple, His feelings perfect, His zeal unbroken, His love unwearied. … The "Hope of Israel" was now like a stranger in the land. He was a traveller who turned aside, so as not to stay in the beloved city even for a night.
One writer sees more in these mountain nights than shelter. He traces them back to what Jesus saw when He looked at the world.
And because He was absolutely perfect as man, He could measure that ruin as no one else could. Through sin, the first man had brought ruin into this world — a world which He created, and which did not know Him. The sight of this ruin led Him not only to suffer, but to pray, yes, to live in prayer, as Luke 6:12 and Luke 21:37 show.
The hill He slept on carries a future. Commentators link it both to His going away and to His coming back.
The Lord still returned to give testimony, walking and working in the day. But His resting-place was that mount. It is the place from which He departed, and where His feet shall stand in that day. Patient in service, He taught daily and early in the temple; at night He was separate from the judged city. His time had now come.
This hill keeps appearing in the gospel record, and always with Him.
It comes into prominence in the New Testament because of the Lord's association with it. He was in the habit of going there: "at night he went out and lodged on the mount" (Luke 21:37; Luke 22:39; John 8:1). The Lord sat on this mount, opposite the temple. From there He spoke to His disciples of the future tribulations and coming judgement (Mark 13:3). It seems He also went up to heaven from a low part of the mount near Bethany (Luke 24:50; Acts 1:12). And He will stand on that mount again when He returns.
- Habit, not incident. These lines sum up the Lord's routine through His last week. It was not a one-off night away.
- Rejected. He taught in the temple by day and had no home to return to by night; the city that heard Him gave Him no bed.
- Unwearied. The rejection did not shorten His service — He wept over the city and kept teaching in it, His zeal unbroken.
- Prayer. The mountain nights belong with Luke 6:12. He measured the ruin sin had brought into the world, and lived in prayer over it.
- Return. Olivet was His resting-place at night. It is the mount He left from, and the mount where His feet will stand again — rejection now, reign later.
and all the people came early in the morning to him in the temple to hear him.
Luke closes Jesus' public ministry with a routine, not a miracle: teaching in the temple by day, the Mount of Olives by night, crowds at dawn. So why did Israel's Teacher have no bed in the city He taught in, and what became of those early listeners?
Verses 37 and 38 are not a new episode. They sum up how Jesus spent every remaining day before His death. One commentator notes how well that summary fits the tone of this Gospel.
The prophecy was ended, and that day's teaching, as far as Luke's record of it goes, was now concluded. But the Lord kept serving without tiring. In a few closing words the writer describes how He spent that last week of His life on earth... How well this short statement fits the grace that marks this Gospel — the Lord teaching day after day those who wanted to hear Him! But of anything said to them after what we have read, Luke gives not a word. Soon the Light of the world would be put out of it.
This same habit sits behind an old copying question. Some scribes moved the account of the woman caught in adultery to this spot in Luke, because the setting matched.
The closing verses sum up our Lord's habit at this time. He spent His nights on the Mount of Olives, and by day He taught in the temple, where all the people came early to hear Him. This is what led several copyists to insert the paragraph from John 7:53 to 8:11 here. But there is no real ground for moving it.
He taught in Jerusalem but would not sleep there. The mountain He withdrew to each evening is the same one connected with His departure and His promised return.
The Lord still returned to give testimony, walking and working in the day. But His resting-place was that mountain — the place He left from, and the place where His feet shall stand in that day. Patient in service, He taught daily and early in the temple; at night He was separate from the judged city. His time had now come.
The city gave Him no room for the night, yet His grief over it never slowed His work.
He spoke little of His own sorrows, but much of those of others. When He saw the city, He wept over it. Yet He taught in the temple, His feelings perfect, His zeal unbroken, His love never tiring... The "Hope of Israel" was now like a stranger in the land, a traveller who turned aside so as not to stay in the beloved city, even for a night.
The mountain was more than a place to sleep. One writer traces the Lord's prayer life to what He saw of the world's ruin.
Because He was absolutely perfect as man, He could measure as no one else could the extent of the ruin that the first man, through sin, had brought into this world. He created that world, and it did not know Him. The sight of this ruin led Him not only to suffer, but to pray — yes, to live in prayer, as Luke 6:12 and Luke 21:37 show.
The time alone fed the work that followed.
Far from man's uncertainty and contempt, the Son of God withdrew to enjoy the fellowship of the Father. From there He returns for service.
The word used for those who gathered is not merely "crowd" but "people," the nation in a broad sense. Kelly makes the distinction while defending John's parallel account: it was "not merely 'the crowd' (ὄχλος), but 'the people' in a large sense (λαός), which here flocked to the Lord's teaching in the temple."
But coming early is not the same as believing.
The Lord spent the last few days of His life on earth teaching in the temple, but He spent His nights on the Mount of Olives. The power of the Spirit of God moved the people to come early in the mornings to the temple to hear Him. How could the people change so quickly from hearers to persecutors, crying out for His crucifixion? It may seem astonishing to us. But that is the sad fickleness of a crowd who only hear the Word of God and never do it. They were curious, but unsaved.
- Night — He would not sleep in the city that refused Him. He spent each night on the mount He would later leave from, and where His feet will stand again.
- Prayer — Those nights were more than rest. Writers point to them as marks of a life lived in prayer, and as time with the Father before service.
- Morning — He came back and taught, His zeal unbroken. These verses sum up a whole final week, not one day — and His time had now come.
- Hearing — Those who came were not just a crowd but "the people" in a large sense, and the Spirit of God moved them to come at daybreak.
- Doing — The same early listeners soon shouted for His death. They were curious, but unsaved — hearing without doing is the warning here.
Now the feast of unleavened bread, which [is] called the passover, drew nigh,
Luke opens the story of the cross with a date, not an event: the yearly festival is near, and Jerusalem is filling with pilgrims. That one line raises two questions: why does one feast have two names, and why did Israel's holiest week become the week its leaders planned a murder?
In the law, Passover and the seven days of unleavened bread that followed were two separate observances. By the time of Christ, everyday speech had merged them, and Luke uses the language of his day.
"Which is called Passover." Compare Josephus, "Antiquities," xiv. 2, 1. From him we learn that by this time people applied the name to the whole season. The Paschal Feast and the Feast of Unleavened Bread had long been blended. Leviticus 23:5 and following, and Numbers 28:16 and following, keep them distinct; Deuteronomy 16:1, 3 merges them, as here.
The joining of the two feasts is not only a matter of names. Ask how long the second feast lasted, and its lesson appears.
And let us not forget how long this feast lasted: "Seven days you shall eat unleavened bread" (Ex. 12:15-20). This marks a complete period of time and pictures the whole span of our life here as saints. The feast of unleavened bread followed straight after the eating of the Passover — indeed Luke 22:1 treats the two as one. The type points to a truth of deep practical importance: everyone sheltered by the blood of the Passover Lamb must be holy in thought and in walk.
Set that meaning beside verse 2, and the season indicts the men who were keeping it.
The chief priest and the scribes sought to kill Him, so verse 2 tells us. That was because they hated Him with a bitter and unyielding hatred. And they did this even though it was the Feast of unleavened bread, which stood as a symbol of all malice and hatred and evil being put out of the heart. But what did they care for that? Their purpose was to rid the world of Him, whose very presence in it was a continual rebuke to their sin and hypocrisy and pride. But how to do it was their problem. They were cowards, every one of them, base cowards, and they feared the people whom they despised.
Their motive was not only hatred. They had convinced themselves that the nation's survival was at stake.
On earlier occasions the Lord had come to Jerusalem. Now He was there again, but in special circumstances. His presence among them had become unbearable to the chief priests, the scribes, and the elders. They could tolerate it no longer. By some means, they felt, they must get rid of Him. As they thought, the nation's welfare and its continued political existence depended on His arrest and death (John 11:47-53).
Luke names the date first and the plot second, and the order matters. The timing was never in the plotters' hands.
Yet how reassuring it is to see that both man and the devil were powerless until the due moment came for carrying out God's purposes. Even then their malice only served those purposes. They served them without knowing it, and in the very way they thought most certain to hinder and cancel them. But He catches the wise in their own craftiness.
Luke does not leave the story with the plotters. What he records next belongs to the same dark hour.
In such a state of things (Luke 22:1-6), Luke records the new fellowship, of which the Supper is the outward sign and bond... At the moment when man gave Him up, the Lord drew closer to His own, and drew His own closer to Himself. This was the moment of His rejection. Satan had put it into the heart of Judas to betray Him, and the Lord well knew the violence and wickedness going on in the city (Psalm 55:9-12).
- Name — Passover and Unleavened Bread began as two observances. Common speech merged them, so Luke gives one name for both.
- Meaning — Seven days without leaven picture a whole life cleared of evil. The shelter of the Lamb's blood and a holy walk belong together.
- Contradiction — The leaders plotted murder during the very feast that told them to put malice out. They thought the nation's survival hung on His death. A calendar cannot clean a heart.
- Overruling — Man and Satan could move only when God's hour came. Their scheming served the purpose they meant to defeat.
- Table — As the plot closed in, the Lord drew His own closer and gave them the Supper as the sign and bond of a new fellowship.
and the chief priests and the scribes sought how they might kill him; for they feared the people.
The last week has come, and Luke opens the story of the cross with a quiet meeting of religious officials. They are working out how to kill a man they dare not arrest in public.
Luke ties two names together — the feast of unleavened bread and the Passover. By this time the two had merged in common speech.
"Which is called Passover." Compare Josephus, Antiquities xiv. 2, 1, from which we learn that the name was by then applied to the whole season. The Paschal Feast and the Feast of Unleavened Bread had long been blended.
That timing matters, because unleavened bread carried its own message — a symbol, as one reference work puts it, that all evil must be put away in order to keep the feast. The plotting described in this verse happens under that banner.
They were not reacting to injury. One commentator lists what these men had received from Him.
The chapter opens with a brief record of the deadly hostility of the leaders of the nation. Already they had surrounded the Lord with words of hatred, and fought against Him without a cause. They had repaid Him evil for good, and hatred for love. At every step He had shown perfect grace; on every hand He had done only good. He had healed the sick, clothed the naked, fed the hungry, forgiven sins, delivered from the devil and raised the dead. He had warned these men, pleaded with them, and wept over them, but all in vain.
Luke does not only say they wanted Him dead. They were "seeking how to put him to death," and the search for a method tells its own story.
Now, at last, the time has come when they are determined to take Him and put Him to death.
Luke gives the reason for the secrecy: they feared the people. That fear had a root.
Those who have lost the fear of God are just those who will be most completely dominated by the fear of man.
Another will was at work behind theirs. Yet nothing moved a minute faster than God allowed.
On one side the will was set like this. On the other side, men stayed near the Lord without judging themselves — indeed in conscious hypocrisy and habitual yielding to covetousness. So Satan easily found the means to carry out his own designs, as a liar and murderer, against the Son of God. Yet how reassuring it is to see that both man and the devil were powerless until the due moment came for carrying out God's purposes. Even then their malice only served those purposes, without knowing it, and in the very way they thought most certain to hinder and cancel them.
They had ruled out the feast day itself. It was the one date they could not avoid.
The very thing they did not want, God brought about, because Scripture had to be fulfilled. At the very moment when Israel was sacrificing the Passover lamb, according to the Word of God — I repeat, at that very moment — Christ, the true Passover Lamb, was sacrificed also. "For Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed" is the moving way the apostle Paul describes it (1 Cor. 5:7).
While the council schemed, the Lord was not on the defensive. Luke's next scenes show Him gathering His disciples for a meal.
At the moment when man gave Him up, the Lord drew closer to His own, and drew His own closer to Himself. He was rejected. Satan had put it into the heart of Judas to betray Him, and He well knew the violence and wickedness going on in the city. Yet it was then that He spoke those wonderful words of love with which He instituted the memorials of Himself in death.
- Cause — Their hatred had no provocation behind it. He had healed the sick, fed the hungry and forgiven sins; He had warned and wept over these men, and they repaid Him evil for good.
- Craft — Needing a secret method proves the motive was rotten. Plotting in the dark is what men do when they fear people but not God.
- Fear — Lose the fear of God and the fear of man takes its place. These men feared a crowd because they did not fear God.
- Clock — Man and Satan were powerless until God's due moment. Their malice served purposes they thought they were destroying.
- Cross — The one date they ruled out was the date God had fixed. The true Passover Lamb died as Israel killed the lambs.
And Satan entered into Judas, who was surnamed Iscariote, being of the number of the twelve.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And he went away and spoke with the chief priests and captains as to how he should deliver him up to them.
One of Jesus' own twelve disciples walks out of His company and goes to the Lord's enemies. How did Satan get such a hold on a close companion of Christ, why did the leaders welcome a traitor, and who was really setting the timetable?
The betrayal was not a plan Judas invented. It was Satan's own work, and the man he used is the shocking part.
All this was Satan's own work, whoever the unhappy instrument was — one of the twelve, one nearest to Jesus. And then the rulers of the people, led by Satan, agree in the awful crime of this terrible act of wickedness — nothing more needs to be said.
Luke says only that he went. One writer pictures that walk.
Judas had slipped away from the Lord's company under some excuse or other that must have deceived his fellow disciples, but not the Lord. Do you not see him hurrying secretly through the streets? He hurried as only a guilty man set on a foul crime could hurry, to the place where he knew those enemies of the Lord were.
Why did he go? Commentators trace the walk back to an appetite Satan already knew about.
Judas was a covetous man. He loved money... He had preached the gospel. He had walked in the company of the Lord Jesus during the days of His public ministry. He had heard His words, seen His ways, experienced His kindness. But sadly, though an apostle, though a companion of Jesus, though a preacher of the gospel, he had no heart for Christ. He had a heart for money... Satan knew this. He knew the special craving of Judas. He was fully aware of the price at which he could be bought.
Nobody recruited him. The move was his own.
No one had attempted to seduce him. No one that we read of had even approached him to sound him out on the subject. He offered himself voluntarily, for Satan had entered into him... But covetous though he was, no one had offered a reward for the Lord's arrest to tempt his greed. He offered himself... He asked, as Matthew (26:15) states, "What will you give me?" That question showed that no one had tempted him with a payment.
The verse names a second group beside the chief priests. Older translations call them "captains." The ESV calls them "officers." They were not soldiers but the temple's own men.
There was also a 'captain of the temple.' The word literally means 'the leader of an army'; it is also used for magistrates, Acts 16:20. But the captain of the temple had charge not of soldiers, but of the priests and Levites.
The same officials Judas consulted here show up in person at the arrest — and Jesus meets them with a word about the moment they had been given:
And Jesus said to the chief priests and captains of the temple and elders, who had come against Him, "Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs? When I was with you day after day in the temple, you did not stretch out your hands against Me. But this is your hour, and the power of darkness."
Judas is not the only guilty party at this meeting.
But note the shameful condition of the chief priests. They stood in close outward relationship to God. You would expect their character to be honourable, faithful, reliable. Instead they were glad to support a man in his treachery toward a friend!
The conspiracy looks like men seizing control. Commentators read it the other way round.
Yet how reassuring it is to see that both man and the devil were powerless until the due moment came for carrying out God's purposes. Even then their malice only served those purposes, without knowing it, and in the very way they thought most certain to stop and cancel them. But He catches the wise in their own craftiness.
- Root — Judas loved money, and Satan knew "the price at which he could be bought." The betrayal grew from an appetite fed long before this meeting.
- Reach — the man Satan used was "one of the twelve, one nearest to Jesus." That nearness is what he took to the priests.
- Ranks — the "captains" were the temple's own men, in charge of priests and Levites, not soldiers.
- Reception — the chief priests "were glad to support a man in his treachery toward a friend." The bargain shamed both sides of the table.
- Rule — man and the devil "were powerless until the due moment came." Their malice only served the purpose they meant to destroy.
And they were rejoiced, and agreed to give him money.
Luke tells the betrayal in a few plain words: a man from the inner circle walks in, the leaders welcome him, and they fix a price. Two wills meet here — one man's greed and a whole council's hatred — and one question hangs over both: who controlled that night?
The plot did not begin with Judas. The leaders already wanted Jesus dead; only fear of the crowd held them back. One writer shows how the two sides came together:
On one side the will was engaged like this. On the other side a man enjoyed nearness to the Lord without judging himself — in fact in conscious hypocrisy, and habitually giving in to covetousness. So Satan easily found the means to carry out his own designs against the Son of God, as a liar and a murderer.
Nobody had offered a reward for Jesus' arrest. Nobody came to Judas with the idea. The offer came from his side of the table first.
Judas appeared before them and offered himself for the unholy work. Surprised, no doubt, but delighted at what seemed to them such a timely help, the bargain was soon struck... No one had tried to tempt him. No one, that we read of, had even approached him to sound him out on the subject. He offered himself of his own accord, for Satan had entered into him.
The verse says they agreed to give him money. One writer explains why money was enough to buy him.
He had heard His words, seen His ways, experienced His kindness. But sadly, though an apostle, though a companion of Jesus, though a preacher of the gospel, he had no heart for Christ. He had a heart for money... Satan knew this. He knew the special lust of Judas. He was fully aware of the price at which he could be bought.
Closeness to Christ with no inward change is itself the warning. Judas was chosen as an apostle and sent out to preach with the rest. Yet he "still remained an unrenewed man, ready to become the devil's instrument to betray his Master." One writer says nothing shows more clearly "the need of the new birth" (C E Stuart).
Luke says they were glad. One writer asks what kind of men would pay for a betrayal like this.
What about the men who gave him the money, who bribed him to betray his Master into their murderous hands? They were the chief priests, the teachers of morality and religion. Developing what is best in man was supposed to be their work. When he made his shameful offer, they should have driven the greedy wretch out of their presence with scorn. But they did not. They had decided to rid themselves of Jesus... and they were glad to have the traitor as a partner in their crime, for they were as base as he was.
Luke says only "money." One writer names the sum, and asks what that price says about the men who set it — and about every heart since.
Judas asked the chief priests what they would give for Jesus. Thirty pieces of silver is their offer. The price of a slave is their estimate of the worth of Him who was always God's delight... "Every man has his price" is a common saying of the world, and it is often untrue. But every soul that Satan cheats out of Jesus has its price. Some accept gold, others position or power. With some it is cheap pleasure, or lust, or some favourite secret sin.
Luke has already said that Satan entered Judas. One writer asks why the enemy took this job himself — and how it backfired.
It shows what the prince of the powers of darkness thought. Bringing about the death of Christ was so important a task that he would hand it to no lesser power. He would take charge of the business himself. Yet he undertook the work to his own overthrow. Judas and the religious leaders settled their bargain easily. Envy consumed the leaders, and the love of money consumed Judas.
And behind Satan stood a higher hand. Kelly finds it reassuring that both man and the devil were powerless until the due moment came to carry out God's purposes. Even then their malice only served those purposes — without knowing it, and in the very way they thought most certain to stop them (William Kelly).
- Price. Judas had a price, and the enemy knew it. Every heart that trades Jesus away takes something in exchange — money, position, pleasure, or a favourite sin.
- Offer. Nobody tempted him and nobody bid for him. He walked in and offered himself; the choice was his own.
- Gladness. The gladness was mutual. Leaders who should have thrown a traitor out welcomed him instead, and so proved as base as the man they hired.
- Nearness. Years beside Christ, preaching included, left Judas unchanged. Nearness to holy things is not new birth.
- Overthrow. Satan took this task on himself. Yet man and devil could not move until God's hour struck, and the plot they thought would finish Jesus served God's purpose instead.
And he came to an agreement to do it, and sought an opportunity to deliver him up to them away from the crowd.
Luke has already told us that Satan entered Judas and that the priests were glad to promise him money. Here Judas closes the deal and starts hunting for a quiet moment, away from the crowds.
Judas was not recruited. He walked in on a council that had no workable plan and volunteered.
They were sitting in council, but they had worked out no settled plan for carrying out their purpose. Then help came from a completely unexpected quarter. Judas appeared before them and offered himself for the evil work. They were surprised, no doubt, but delighted at what seemed to them such a well-timed offer. The bargain was soon struck. For the paltry reward of thirty pieces of silver the wretched man was to look for a chance to betray his Master when the crowd was away. No one had tried to tempt him. As far as we read, no one had even approached him about it.
Judas did not fall all at once. A habit he fed took him the rest of the way.
What a solemn warning! An evil tendency that we feed may grow until it masters us completely, and leads us to commit the most appalling sins, as it did in this man. Covetousness, the love of money which is the root of all evil, led Judas on step by step. It blinded his soul, until he completed his frightful wickedness by betraying his Lord for thirty pieces of silver.
The deal went through easily because both sides wanted it. Behind both stood someone who would not delegate this job.
Luke reports that dreadful fact in a more general way. It shows that the prince of the powers of darkness saw the death of Christ as too important a task to hand to any lesser power. He would take charge of the business himself. Yet he undertook the work to his own overthrow. Judas and the religious leaders settled their agreement easily. Envy consumed them, and the love of money consumed Judas.
Luke's wording here does not fix the moment when Satan entered Judas.
It may be worth noting here that the older English translation misleads anyone who takes verse 3 to mean that Satan entered into Judas at this moment. We know from John 13:27 that it was only after Jesus gave him the piece of bread... The truth is that Luke gives no time marker here. He uses only a linking word, and so is content with the broad fact, without going into the stages it passed through.
Judas could only look for a chance. He could not make one.
How reassuring it is to notice that both man and the devil were powerless until the proper moment came for carrying out God's purposes. Even then their malice only served those purposes, without knowing it, and in the very way they thought most certain to block and cancel them.
The man watching for his chance had lived in close company with Jesus.
We see in him one who had opportunities and advantages such as few possessed. He was chosen to be an apostle, to be with the Lord, and to go out and preach like the rest of that company. Even so, he remained an unrenewed man, ready to become the devil's instrument to betray his Master. What is man? He spent time with Christ such as only apostles enjoyed. He saw the works done and heard the words spoken. What an evil heart he has, that he can still remain unsoftened!
A religious position tells you nothing about the heart behind it.
Here was an apostle — a preacher of the gospel, a man who made a loud claim to faith. Yet under that outward claim lay "a heart trained in greed" — a heart with a wide place for "thirty pieces of silver," but not a corner for Jesus... He preached the gospel, but he never knew it, never believed it, never felt it. He had painted sunbeams on canvas, but he never felt their influence.
- Motive — No one tempted Judas with an offer. He came forward himself, and greed fed in private walked into the priests' council on its own feet.
- Bargain — Envy on their side, money on his, and the deal took no persuading. Evil finds partners fast when both parties already want the same thing.
- Master — Satan took this task himself, too important to pass to a lesser power. In doing so he worked toward his own defeat.
- Timing — Judas could only seek an opportunity. Man and the devil stayed powerless until God's moment came. Their malice only served the purposes they meant to wreck.
- Warning — An apostle's place beside Jesus, and still an unrenewed heart. Nearness to Christ is not the same as a renewed heart.
And the day of unleavened bread came, in which the passover was to be killed.
This verse names the day God had set for the sacrifice of His Son. Everything that follows in the chapter — the meal, the betrayal, the cross — hangs on it.
Luke counts this day the Jewish way, from evening to evening. One single day holds both the feast and the death it pictured.
The last day of His life of humiliation drew near. It was a day never to be forgotten, the centre, so to speak, of time. On the events of that day hung the interests of millions for eternity. That day began — for it is counted the Jewish way — with the keeping of the Passover, and it ended with the death and burial of the true Passover Lamb.
One writer traces the hours of that day.
The day of unleavened bread arrived, and Luke added, "when the Passover must be killed" (v.7). It was the day God had ordained for the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus. That day began at 6:00 pm. The mock trial took place during the night, and at 9:00 am that same day He was put on the cross. But knowing well all that awaited Him, the Lord was in calm control of all the circumstances.
Some have argued from John's Gospel that Jesus held the meal a full day early. Luke's own wording answers that.
"The day of unleavened bread." The supply of unleavened bread (Ex. 23:15) began, as we would say, at 6 p.m. on the Thursday, when the 14th of Nisan set in… Some compare John's Gospel and hold that the Lord kept the ceremony one whole day early. That theory already seems to be ruled out by Luke's own words, "the day … in which the passover had to be killed." Only the darkness of half of the technical day divided the Lord's celebration from that of the people of Jerusalem in general.
In the ESV the lamb "had to be sacrificed"; older versions read "must be killed." That word carries God's appointment, not human custom.
The Greek word is the more general one. It marks any kind of necessity: the necessity that lies in the nature of the case, or, above all, the necessity that comes by divine appointment. This gives it greater strength, and "must" is the way it is most often translated. See 2 Tim. 2:6; Luke 22:7; John 3:7… Those show the general use. These others, out of many, show the necessity fixed by the will and word of God: Matt. 16:21… Luke 22:37; Luke 24:7, 26, 44.
Luke names the feast and the sacrifice in one breath. They were kept as one feast, and they carry two halves of one truth.
The Passover was to be kept once a year, on the 14th day of the first month. With it went "the feast of unleavened bread," kept from the 15th day for seven days. It is counted as one feast, for sometimes it is called "the feast of the Passover" (Ex. 34:25; Luke 2:41; John 13:1). Unleavened bread was to be eaten for seven days, because the Passover speaks both of sins forgiven by the blood of the sacrifice and of sin condemned by the death of Christ. Leaven is a symbol of sin, and the seven days speak of its complete judgment by the death of the Lord Jesus.
Israel killed the lamb once a year as a picture. On this day the picture and the reality met.
The passover must have the basic place. The reason is plain. It is the well-known sign of the death of our Lord Jesus… Tied directly to it is the feast of unleavened bread — that is, purity according to Christ, where the leaven of man's nature cannot be allowed… On the very day that our Saviour died on the cross the Jews kept the passover… Our Lord Himself ate the passover on the regular day. Even the Jews who seized Him ate it, by Jewish reckoning, on that very same day, though for us it was the next morning. Christ died before that day was over.
Here Luke shows Jesus in a new role, and against a dark background.
In Luke 22 we see our Lord with the disciples, not now as a prophet, but about to become a sacrifice, meanwhile giving them the sweetest pledge of His love. On the other side stand the hatred of man, the weakness of the disciples, the falsehood of Peter and the treachery of Judas. Behind them is the enemy who had the power of death, with all his cunning and terror. The day of unleavened bread comes on, and the passover must be killed.
- Appointed — "must" is the word for a necessity fixed by God's own will and word.
- Dated — the day began at 6 p.m. with the Passover meal and ended with the burial of the true Passover Lamb. Supper and cross fell inside one Jewish day.
- Undivided — Luke calls it the day "on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed." That rules out the idea that Jesus kept the feast a day early. Only half a day's darkness separated His meal from the city's.
- Twofold — the Passover speaks of sins forgiven through the blood. The unleavened bread beside it speaks of sin itself condemned and judged.
- Fulfilled — while the people killed their lambs, the Lamb they pictured was dying that same day. The old sign met its reality.
And he sent Peter and John, saying, Go and prepare the passover for us, that we may eat [it].
The last Passover is near, and the Lord's first move is a meal with His friends. He sends two men ahead to a house they have never seen — so who is arranging this evening?
Each of the four Gospels supplies a different piece of this errand. One writer lines them up, and notes that the man who helped prepare the meal never mentions it.
It is very interesting, in connection with the Lord's Supper, to see that in Matthew (Matt. 26:17) the disciples come to the Lord to know where to prepare the Passover supper, but we are not told who did it. Mark (Mark 14:13) says it was two disciples. Luke (Luke 22:8) tells us that these two disciples were Peter and John. John, with his usual reserve, says not a word about who prepared it. But when everything was ready for them to sit down to supper, he says, "He washed our feet and made us fit to enjoy it." Then, made bold by knowing such love, he leans his head on the Lord's chest.
Centuries of Passovers were now coming to an end. The One who began the feast arranged its last keeping Himself.
For many centuries Israel had kept the Passover, with more or less faithfulness. Now they would keep it in its full meaning for the last time. Within twenty-four hours its light would grow pale in the shining of the reality it pictured, when the true Lamb of God died on the cross. Remarkably, at that last full keeping, the One who instituted it was present to share it — the perfect, holy Man. He ordered the Passover to be prepared, and He decided the very place where they should eat it. The time, the manner, the place, were all His appointment. The choice lay not with the disciples but with Him, as verse 9 shows.
He does not just say, prepare the Passover. He adds, for us, that we may eat it. He wanted this meal, and He wanted it with them.
So He desired to eat this last Passover with His disciples, because He would eat it no more until it was fulfilled in the kingdom of God, that is, by His death... Notice also what a touching expression of love we have here: His heart needed this last testimony of affection before leaving them.
Others place the same moment against the wider background of that week — the plotting of the rulers, the betrayal, the coming denial.
In Luke 22 we see our Lord with the disciples not now as a prophet, but about to become a sacrifice, meanwhile giving them the sweetest pledge of His love. On the other hand, there is the hatred of man, the weakness of the disciples, the falsehood of Peter, the treachery of Judas.
The command in this verse produces a question in the next one. One writer praises them for asking.
How good to see that the disciples did not trust themselves to decide where to prepare the Passover, but rather asked Him to direct them. If they had not had this simplicity of faith, they could not have expected His miraculous answer to their question.
The Lord had no home in Jerusalem. Yet the difficulty was only ever theirs.
But where? The Lord had no home at Jerusalem, as He had at Capernaum, nor had He spent a night inside the city walls all that week. Where then should they find a suitable room for the purpose? They did not know, so they asked Him... God always has ready what is needed for His work... Probably the man was a secret disciple, though clearly unknown to the Apostles as such. His name is never mentioned.
Some stumble at such exact foreknowledge. One writer replies that the power which described the scene also arranged it.
There is no ground of difficulty here for anyone who believes the Word of God. He could describe the person, the place, the time and the circumstances in advance. He was in communion with the divine power and grace that controlled the heart of the Jewish householder. That man had been a stranger until then, yet he gladly agreed to let the Lord use his room for the Passover feast with His disciples. God ordered everything in honour of His Son for the last Passover. To me that is beautifully fitting as a testimony in Jerusalem, where the religious leaders, and even a disciple, along with the crowd, were hardening themselves to their ruin in rejecting and killing Him.
- Sent. The errand begins with Him. He chose Peter and John, and Luke alone gives us their names.
- Set. This was the last Passover to carry its full meaning, and He fixed the time, the manner and the place.
- Asked. They did not decide for themselves where to prepare. Without that simple faith they would not have looked for His answer.
- Supplied. God always has ready what His work needs. An unnamed householder, likely a secret disciple, had the room waiting.
- Shared. He wanted this last meal with them. His heart needed that sign of love before He left them to suffer.
But they said to him, Where wilt thou that we prepare [it]?
Passover was near, but the Lord owned no house in Jerusalem. The two men He sent ahead had no address to go to. Their reply is a short question. It shows both their own emptiness and His full command of the situation.
The question was not laziness. In that city, a room for their Master was not easy to find.
The Lord had no home in Jerusalem, as He had in Capernaum. He had not spent a night inside the city walls all that week. So where would they find a suitable room? They did not know, so they asked Him, "Where will You have us prepare it?" God always has ready what His work needs… The chief priests and Pharisees had ordered that anyone who knew where He was should report it, so that they might arrest Him (John 11:57). Providing a room for Him could bring the owner trouble, if he did not report Him. But the owner was willing to do what the Teacher wanted.
Peter and John could have used their own judgment. They did not. That choice made room for the answer they received.
It is good to see that the disciples did not trust their own judgment about where to prepare the Passover. They asked Him to direct them. Without that simple faith, they could not have expected the miraculous answer He gave them.
They showed the same trust when they carried out His reply.
The Lord Jesus had no home of His own. But He knew well how to put His hand on everything God's service needed. The owner of the guest room was no doubt someone who knew Him and honoured Him. The disciples knew that their Master was enough. They attempted nothing on their own. They looked to Him for direction, and acted on it. So the One who had nowhere to lay His head did not lack a suitable place for His last meeting with His own.
His answer settled every detail before any of it happened. The exactness points to who is speaking.
Oh, the perfect, divine dignity of Him who, while He was Man, was also God! How the glory of His Godhead shines out here! You see it in His quiet majesty, His conscious power, and His full knowledge. At the same time, you see how clearly everything is marked out. Nothing is left to what we might call a "perhaps," a "maybe," or "chance." One who is Master of every circumstance arranged the whole thing. He has it all in His own hand.
He was days from His death. That took nothing from His rights or His knowledge.
The Lord had now reached the time of His deepest humiliation. Yet the glory of His person and His rights over all things stayed the same… In the house they were sent to, they would find a heart prepared by grace to receive the Lord… He knows all circumstances and all hearts.
That week the nation's leaders were closing ranks against Him. Yet God saw to it that His Son had what He asked for.
He could describe the person, the place, the time and the circumstances in advance and in detail. He was in communion with the Divine power and grace that controlled the heart of the Jewish householder, a man who had been a stranger until then. That power and grace made him glad to let the Lord use his room for the Passover meal with His disciples. God ordered everything in honour of His Son for this last Passover. To me that is a fitting testimony in Jerusalem. There the religious leaders, and even one of the disciples, along with the mass of the people, were hardening themselves to their own destruction as they rejected Him and put Him to death.
Their question is not only history. Writers apply it to us today.
When the Lord told Peter and John to prepare the Passover supper, they asked, "Where will You have us prepare it?" We may ask the same today: "Where shall we go to worship?" He then told them to go into the city. There they would meet a man carrying a pitcher of water, and they were to follow him. This man may picture for us the Holy Spirit and the pitcher of water the Word of God. We are to go where the Spirit and the Word of God would lead us.
- Empty hands. They had no house, no room, no plan — and God always has ready what His work needs.
- Empty hands ask. They did not trust themselves to decide; that simplicity of faith is what left room for His answer.
- The answer is exact. He named the person, place, time and circumstances in advance, and left nothing to "perhaps" or chance.
- The answer includes the host. Behind the open door was a heart prepared by grace, because He knows all circumstances and all hearts.
- The question is still ours. "Where will You have us prepare it?" becomes "Where shall we go to worship?" — and we go where the Spirit and the Word lead.
And he said to them, Behold, as ye enter into the city a man will meet you, carrying an earthen pitcher of water; follow him into the house where he goes in;
The Lord sends Peter and John to get the Passover ready, and when they ask where, He gives them no address — only a sign to follow. Everything turns on two questions: how could He know it, and what does the room He asks for tell us about Him?
The sign works only because it was odd.
Verse 10 puts the Lord's foreknowledge on display. Carrying the water was the task of the women; a man bearing a pitcher of water was a very uncommon sight. Yet He knew a man would be doing this unusual thing. He knew Peter and John would meet him as they entered the city.
How could anyone know this in advance? One commentator finds no difficulty, and follows the Lord's knowledge into the heart of the man who owned the house.
There is no ground of difficulty here for anyone who believes the Word of God. He could describe the person, the place, the time, and the circumstances in advance. So He was in communion with the divine power and grace that controlled the heart of the Jewish householder — a stranger until then — and made him gladly agree to let the Lord use his room for the Passover feast with His disciples.
One commentator sets this errand beside an earlier one, when the Lord sent disciples to fetch a donkey.
If the earth had accepted the Lord, He had a right to fill the throne of David. But the citizens would not have Him. So, rejected as a King, He had to become a stranger... The first was to get Him a donkey and, as Lord of the fullness of the whole earth, He claims it from its owner. He says, so to speak, "You are the owner, but I am the Lord." The man bowed to the claim... Now He sends out a mission, as a traveller going into a guest chamber. How the Lord knew how to change Himself! He knew how to abound and how to suffer need.
One commentator draws out what that one room says about the Lord — and about His people.
Notice how He points to that one spot as the place where, to His own mind, it was fitting for Him to eat the Passover with His disciples. And it was there He instituted the Supper... He means simply this: that He was a Stranger here, and that we must be strangers too. He is showing us how His earthly circumstances must form and determine ours. How touching! The Creator of all, He who formed everything, who also holds everything up, had not a spot in His own creation!
Their question is what made room for the sign.
How good to see that the disciples did not trust themselves to decide where to prepare the Passover. Instead they asked Him to direct them. Without this simple faith, they could not have expected His miraculous answer to their question.
Commentators differ on what the sign pictures. One sees the pitcher as small next to what waits inside the house.
Follow where the man with the water goes in, and there you will find the place made ready, which only He can fill. For the Old Testament leads this way to the New. The pitcher holds only water, and it leads to the place where the living streams soon flow out in their fullness.
Another reads the man himself as a picture, and turns the sign into an invitation.
The Lord told the disciples to follow a man carrying a pitcher of water, and he would show them the spot. Is this not a picture of the Holy Spirit? and does not the pitcher of water speak of divine resources and refreshment? If you wish to enjoy this large place, let the Holy Spirit lead your soul into it. You may break bread with a very correct body of Christians and yet never know this large upper room furnished.
- Ask — The disciples did not pick the place. They asked, and that simple faith left room for His answer.
- Follow — The answer was a person to walk behind, not an address. The Lord had seen that unusual sight before it happened.
- Claim — As with the donkey, He claims what is not His by law. The householder bows, because divine power had already moved his heart.
- Guest — The room He claims is a guest chamber. The Creator of everything had no spot in His own creation, and His strangeness here shapes ours.
- Arrive — The jar holds a little; the upper room holds far more. Commentators read the sign two ways: the Old Testament leading to fuller streams, or the Spirit leading a soul into a large place.
and ye shall say to the master of the house, The Teacher says to thee, Where is the guest-chamber where I may eat the passover with my disciples?
The Lord sends two disciples into Jerusalem with a message, not a favour to ask. They must find a householder and repeat their Master's words. Everything turns on the weight of that one short sentence — and on why the One who owned no house in Jerusalem had a room waiting for Him.
The disciples carry no bargaining, no explanation, no name to drop. The householder answers to nothing more than the words that name who is asking. The ESV reads "The Teacher"; older translations have "The Master," the wording these writers follow.
Then the light from behind the scene (vv. 8-13) makes a passage. It is the Lord; and no matter what He suffers, or what lies before Him, we still find the divine knowledge and power. There is the chamber! What calm and peaceful dignity! It is no effort, nothing put on for show. Everything yields before the unwitnessed authority of this rejected Saviour. Everything, that is, except the unrenewed heart of man — the very thing to which that authority had been shown most plainly. To the householder, unknown it seems to every eye but one, it is enough to hear, "The Master says to you."
A man days away from the cross claims the room as His own.
It was One who was going to die, yet He still went there with royal, divine rights. He had not forfeited His place as Messiah, though He was going to suffer as Son of man on the cross. He therefore takes possession as the Master, and the good man of the house at once agrees to His claim. All was before His eyes. There was no lack of power to act upon the conscience and affections of men.
The Lord told Peter and John to look for a man carrying a water jar.
The Lord's foreknowledge is strikingly displayed in verse 10. Carrying the water was the task of the women; a man carrying a pitcher of water was a very uncommon sight. Yet He knew there would be a man doing this unusual thing, and that Peter and John would meet him as they entered the city. He knew also that the "master of the house" would answer the message the disciples brought in the name of "the Master." No doubt he recognised the Master as his own Master. In other words, he was one of the godly in Jerusalem who acknowledged His claims, and the Lord knew how to lay His hand upon him.
The word points to a real custom in a crowded city at festival time.
Records tell us that at feast times many people came to Jerusalem from distant places. Those living in the city who were able gave up a room for the use of any who came to worship. So the term "guest-chamber" came into use. The disciples found such a room ready, furnished and prepared, where the Lord kept the last Passover with His disciples.
The Greek word behind "guest room" appears in the story of His birth too. Mark then records this errand with one word changed.
From the Greek verb kata-luo we get the noun kata-luma. It is the word used in the story of our Lord's birth, in Luke 2:7, when there was "no place for them in the inn." The only other time the New Testament uses it is when the Lord ate the last supper with His disciples in the large upper room… Mark 14:14 has the same question that Luke records here. But in the better reading of the Greek text, one word is changed: "Where is My guest room, where I may eat the Passover with My disciples?" Yes, it was His guest room; His disciples; and His supper.
He had to ask for a room because He had none. That did not leave Him without resources.
The Lord Jesus had no home of His own, but He knew well how to put His hand on all that was needed for the service of God. The owner of the guest-chamber was no doubt someone who knew and revered Him. The disciples knew the sufficiency of their Master. They attempted nothing on their own. They looked to Him for direction, and acted on it. So the One who had nowhere to lay His head had no lack of suitable accommodation for the last meeting with His own.
He wanted the room for a meal with His own, and it was the last of its kind.
In Luke 22 we see our Lord with the disciples. He is with them not now as a prophet, but as One about to become a sacrifice, meanwhile giving them the sweetest pledge of His love… It was the last act of communion of Christ with them. He eats with them: He will not drink. Another cup was before Him.
- Word. Peter and John carry no argument — only "The Master says to you," and the door opens.
- Knowledge. The man with the water jar, the householder, the room: all were before His eyes before either disciple set out.
- Claim. Days from the cross He has lost none of His royal, divine rights, and the householder agrees at once.
- Provision. The One with nowhere to lay His head still knew how to put His hand on everything needed for the service of God.
- Purpose. He borrowed the room for one thing: to eat the Passover with His own. It was His last act of communion with them before He suffered.
And *he* will shew you a large upper room furnished there make ready.
The Lord sends Peter and John to prepare the Passover. When they ask where, He describes a room He has never entered — its size, its floor, its readiness. Commentators read the scene on two levels: what it says about the One giving the directions, and what the room has come to mean for Christians today.
The two apostles had no idea where to go. One writer traces the answer to the man who owned the room:
The Lord had no home in Jerusalem, as He had at Capernaum, and He had not spent a night inside the city walls all that week. Where then would they find a suitable room? God always has ready what is needed for His work... Probably the man was a secret disciple, though the apostles did not know it at the time. His name is never mentioned. The chief priests and Pharisees had ordered that anyone who knew where He was should report it, so that they could arrest Him. Providing a room for Him could bring the owner trouble. But the man was willing to do what the Teacher wanted. He showed them a large upper room furnished, with the couches and the carpets all ready, and now it was clear who they were for.
The instructions are exact: man, house, room, timing. One commentator treats that as evidence, not a puzzle:
There is no ground for difficulty here for anyone who believes the Word of God. He could describe the person, place, time and circumstances beforehand, in exact detail. He was in communion with the divine power and grace that controlled the heart of the Jewish householder. That power made the man — a stranger to Him until then — gladly agree to let the Lord use the room for the Passover feast with His disciples. God arranged everything in honour of His Son for this last Passover. That seems to me beautifully fitting as a testimony in Jerusalem. There the religious leaders, and even one of His disciples, along with the crowd, were hardening themselves to their own destruction by rejecting and killing Him.
The word behind "guest room" was an ordinary one. It appears at the start of Luke's Gospel too, and the echo is striking:
This is the word used in the story of our Lord's birth, in Luke 2:7, when "there was no place for them in the inn."... And in Mark 14:14 we find the same question, but (in the better reading of the Greek text) one word is changed: "Where is My guest room, where I may eat the Passover with My disciples?" Yes, it was His guest room; His disciples; and His supper.
The householder gives up the room at once, without argument. That easy compliance says something about the One asking:
He was going to die, yet He went there with royal, divine rights. He had not given up His place as Messiah, though He would suffer as Son of Man on the cross. So He takes possession as the Master, and the owner of the house at once accepts His claim. Everything was before His eyes. There was no lack of power to act on the conscience and affections of men. He could have turned all the others as He bowed this man's heart. But how then would the Scriptures have been fulfilled, and sin blotted out, and God glorified?
Commentators read the three words that describe the room — large, upper, furnished — as a picture of the Christian's place. Start with "large":
Once we come into Christianity we are in touch with what is large. Take first that most dreaded enemy of man. He ruins our prospects and hurries us off the stage of our short life. Yet even "death is ours." Death can only bring the believer more fully into the region of his blessings. Christianity is large, for it is eternal. It is large, for it has to do with the Father, the Son and the Spirit. Christianity is large because it breathes the air of resurrection.
Pollock reads the room's height as a contrast with the blessings promised under the law:
Judaism was like a room on the ground floor: it offered earthly blessings... But Christianity offers no earthly blessings — ours are heavenly. The room is an upper one, because in picture the disciples were to be taken away from the influences of the earth.
The room came ready. Nobody had to carry anything in. Another writer draws a practical conclusion:
The furnished room reminds us that God has made every provision for the Church: no human additions are needed, such as a robed choir, stained glass windows, imposing ceremonies, musical instruments, and so on.
Pollock ends his study by asking where such a place is found now, and answers from the same passage — the man with the water jar led the two disciples to it:
You may break bread with a very correct body of Christians and yet never know this large upper room furnished. On the other hand, the actual room in which you break bread may be small, on the ground floor, and very bare of furniture, and yet you may have found this spot we are speaking of.
- Prepared before asked — the Lord had no house in Jerusalem, yet God always has ready what His work needs. The host was probably a secret disciple, and his name is never given.
- Prepared in detail — He named the person, place, time and circumstance in advance. Such accuracy is no problem for faith.
- Prepared for a King — He was on His way to die, yet He claimed the room by right. The owner's instant yes showed a power that could have bowed every heart in Jerusalem.
- Prepared, not decorated — large, upper, furnished: room enough for what is eternal, lifted above earthly blessing, and already supplied. Human additions add nothing.
- Prepared for you — commentators apply the room to Christian worship today. Correct surroundings are not the same as being in that large place; the Spirit leads you there.
And having gone they found it as he had said to them; and they prepared the passover.
They went, they found, they made ready. One short sentence closes the story of the upper room. Two questions sit behind it. How did Jesus know all this in advance? And what were the two disciples preparing on the last night before the cross?
The detail in Christ's directions makes the outcome striking. He had named the person, the place, the time and the circumstances. Every part held. One writer answers the doubter directly:
There is no ground of difficulty here for anyone who believes the Word of God. He described the person, the place, the time, and the circumstances in advance. He could do so because He was in communion with the divine power and grace that controlled the heart of the Jewish householder. That man was a stranger up to then, but that same grace made him gladly agree to let the Lord use his house for the Passover meal with His disciples. It seems to me beautifully fitting that God should order everything in honour of His Son for the last Passover. This was a testimony in Jerusalem. There the religious chiefs, and even a disciple, along with the crowd, were hardening themselves to their own destruction as they rejected and killed Him.
Nothing here was loose or approximate. That is where the majesty of the moment lies:
Oh, the perfect, divine dignity of Him who, while He was Man, was also God! See how the perfection of His Godhead glory shines out here! It shines in the majestic quietness, the conscious power, and the fulness of knowledge that marked Him. At the same time you see how clearly everything is mapped out. Nothing is left to what we might call a "perhaps," or "maybe," or "chance." One who is Master of every circumstance arranged the whole thing, and He holds everything in His own hand.
Christ's knowledge reached past the address to the man who lived there:
In the house he entered, they would find a heart prepared by grace to receive the Lord. They were to say to him, "The Teacher says, Where is the room where I shall eat the Passover with My disciples?" He knows all circumstances and all hearts. The disciples find the man just as He had told them, and they prepare the Passover.
What they did that day is the pattern for everyone who trusts Christ's word:
As will always be the case for faith, they found things just as He had told them, and they prepared the Passover. How little they understood all that was involved in this at the time! Later they would see it with better understanding, especially when Paul wrote 1 Corinthians 11:23-26. But they were obedient.
One writer draws a careful line between this preparation and another one later in the same Gospel:
"Prepared the passover" means the first Passover meal itself. Do not confuse this preparation with the paraskeuē, a word of a different formation, used in Luke 23:54 in the closest connection with the Sabbath. That word was also a name for the whole period from one sunset to the next in each week.
The meal they made ready was also the last of its kind. What follows in the chapter sets the two suppers side by side:
Read Luke 22:7-20, and you will see the Passover of the Jews and the supper of the Lord shown one after the other. From then on the second was to replace the first, and that for ever. The first, along with other meanings attached to it, foreshadowed the great Sacrifice which in due time would put away sin. The second now celebrates the great fact that this sacrifice has been offered, and that, for faith, sin is put away.
The owner gave his room for one evening. It may have served far beyond that night:
Very possibly that upper room was well known afterwards and much used. There seems nothing against the idea that the Lord appeared there to the eleven on the day of His resurrection. It seems just as possible that six weeks later, in that same room, the Holy Spirit was poured out on the assembled company of disciples, with the owner probably among them. The Teacher! That title would and did appeal to the man. For the Teacher the owner gave the room, and he was surely repaid many times over.
- Said — Christ named the person, place, time and circumstances in advance. He left nothing to chance, because He is Master of every circumstance.
- Prepared — Grace prepared the owner's heart before anyone prepared the room. Christ knows all circumstances and all hearts.
- Found — This is faith's normal experience: they went, and found things just as He had told them.
- Obeyed — They obeyed while understanding very little. Fuller understanding came later.
- Repaid — The house lent for one evening may have hosted the risen Lord and the outpoured Spirit. And the meal made ready that night was the last Passover, replaced for ever by the supper that celebrates sin put away.
And when the hour was come, he placed himself at table, and the [twelve] apostles with him.
One short sentence opens the last night of Jesus' life. Commentators stop over three things in it: the hour, the One who set it, and the company He kept.
Luke does not say Jesus found a convenient time. He says the hour came. One writer traces that hour back to God's own instructions for the Passover.
Deuteronomy 16 gives the instruction about the Passover: the month, the day, and the place. It was not to be kept just anywhere, but at the place the Lord God would choose to put His name, in the evening, at sunset. So Jesus was at the place God had chosen for the sacrifice of the Passover, and the month, the day, and the hour had come: the going down of the sun. As for the chief priests and scribes, they were looking for a way to kill Him. They did not know that He was the true Passover Lamb. They did not understand that the time had come for the Passover to be killed. But when the hour had come, He sat down with the apostles.
The Passover had a long history behind it. One writer marks what made this one different.
For many centuries the Passover had been kept. Now it was to be kept for the last time in its full meaning. Remarkably, the One who first gave it was there to share in it. He ordered the Passover to be prepared, and He decided the very place where they should eat it. The time, the manner, the place, were all His appointment.
Another writer hears that same control in the calm of the whole scene.
How the perfection of His glory as God shines out here! It shows in all the majestic quietness, conscious power, and fullness of knowledge that marked Him. At the same time, see how plainly everything is marked out. He leaves nothing to what we might call a "perhaps," a "maybe," or chance. One who is Master of every circumstance arranged the whole thing, and He holds everything in His own hand.
One writer sets the tenderness of this table against everything closing in from outside.
In Luke 22 we see our Lord with the disciples, not now as a prophet, but about to become a sacrifice, meanwhile giving them the sweetest pledge of His love. On the other hand, there is the hatred of man and the weakness of the disciples. There is the falsehood of Peter, the treachery of Judas, and the cunning and terrors of the enemy who had the power of death… It was the last act of communion of Christ with them.
Men were closing in to destroy Him. In Luke it is Jesus who takes the first step toward the table.
In the moment when man gave Him up, the Lord drew closer to His own, and drew His own closer to Himself. Here in Luke it is the Lord who proposes to them to go and prepare the Passover… This was the moment of His rejection. Satan had put it into the heart of Judas to betray Him, and He well knew the violence and wickedness going on in the city. Yet the Lord drew His own closer to Himself and drew closer to them.
Luke names them as apostles — the men He had called out and kept nearest to Himself.
He was with His disciples in the upper room for one purpose: to keep the Passover supper. The company was Jesus and the twelve. He had called them out to be His apostles, His beloved followers and His chosen witnesses. He chose them to see more of His face than anyone else in the world, and to hear more of His words than others. He brought them into scenes of closest intimacy.
One of the twelve at that table was the traitor. Some use this to argue that known evil can be allowed at the Lord's table.
Judas is named as taking part in the feast and asking a question… Only the Lord knew his character. His fellow apostles did not seem to have any suspicion of him. But to argue from this case that we ought to allow known evil at the Lord's table is simply wicked. To say that we may have traitors at the table is to confess our own weakness. To say that we ought to have known traitors is shocking to any holy mind.
- The hour set. God fixed the month, the day, the place and the hour of the Passover. Jesus was there on time, the true Passover Lamb His enemies did not recognise.
- The hour arranged. The time, the manner and the place were all His own choosing. He left nothing to chance, and the disciples only carried out what He decided.
- The hour shared. That table was His last act of communion with them. It was the sweetest pledge of His love, offered while hatred, weakness and treachery pressed in.
- The hour of drawing near. At the exact moment man gave Him up, He drew His own closer to Himself — the initiative to prepare the meal came from Him.
- The hour tested. No one on earth stood closer to Him than these men. Yet a traitor sat among them, known only to the Lord. That calls for humility, never for welcoming known evil.
And he said to them, With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer.
Jesus sits down to His last meal with the disciples. His first words tell them how much He had wanted this evening. In the same breath He names the suffering that is only hours away.
Older translations read "with desire I have desired." The ESV puts it as "earnestly desired." One writer gives the force of the word.
Satan's power and illusion held men's souls. Our perfect blessed Saviour passed through that night, His last with His disciples. He ate that Passover supper of which He speaks in those touching words: "With desire ('earnest, yearning longing,' as the word means) I have desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer."
The same Greek word appears elsewhere in the New Testament with a very different sense. So what makes a longing holy?
"Desire" and "lust" are really the same word, as many passages show… It is the thing longed for that gives the feeling its character. If the object of the craving is good, according to God, then it is a holy desire. So the Lord Himself uses this very word when He speaks to His disciples here… "Lust," as James teaches, starts in us. But holy "desire" is the fruit of the Spirit of God working in the believer.
Compare His side of the table with theirs. The longing ran one way.
First of all His desire is to eat that paschal feast with His disciples. He was the only One who knew what it meant. To Him it spoke of a burden no mere man ever bore, or ever could bear. And yet with desire He desired to eat of that passover before He suffered. He knew it was the immediate forerunner of His death on the cross. Yet not one of the disciples desired to eat it with Him as He desired to eat it with them. This is love, and love is self-sacrificing.
The roast lamb in front of Him was a picture of Himself. One writer asks what He was thinking as He looked at it.
What a moment! On the night He was betrayed, Jehovah-Jesus sat down with His apostles to eat the last Passover with them before He died. A better blood had to be shed — the blood of the Lamb of God… On the table before Him and His apostles lay the roast lamb, and He Himself was the blessed reality it pictured. What was the train of His thoughts when the Holy Lamb of God looked at the picture before Him? Was it His own sufferings? Yes, but in what way? "With desire I have desired to eat this Passover with you, before I suffer."
What He wanted from them was company — and He wanted it precisely because of what was coming.
Verse 15 is a most beautiful expression, restrained, yet showing the depth of His desire for fellowship with His disciples at the moment when His great sufferings were imminent… In deep affection for them He sought their affections too, some little comfort of their fellowship in view of His very soon being utterly alone on a cross of unspeakable agony.
This was the last Passover He would keep. He did not brush the old order aside.
Here the Lord shows how His heart goes out… As the words that follow show, He is closing His time on earth with them, and the old order of things with it. He closes it with honour, magnifying it by celebrating it. At the same time He longs for the better thing beyond — its glorious fulfilment in the Kingdom of God. His suffering was the only way to this fulfilment, and it was itself the strongest proof He could give of His longing for it.
At the Passover He ate with them. At the supper, minutes later, He was the one who gave.
Notice here two things. The Lord set up the supper after the passover, and He Himself ate the passover with them. It was His service to fulfil all righteousness. At the supper it was different. He entered deeply and perfectly into its character, in all its marvellous blessing to us, so that He gave thanks. Yet instead of eating, He gave it to His disciples to eat. He said, "Take, eat."
- Longing — The doubled wording means an earnest, yearning ache. The same word is elsewhere translated "lust." What is longed for decides whether the desire is holy or evil.
- Love — Not one disciple wanted that meal as much as He did. Love like that is self-sacrificing.
- Lamb — He alone knew what the roast lamb meant, because He was the One it pictured. Better blood was about to be shed.
- Last — It was His final Passover. He honoured the old order by keeping it, and looked past it to its fulfilment in the kingdom of God. His suffering was the only road there.
- Legacy — He ate the Passover with them. The supper that followed He did not eat; He handed it to them: "Take, eat."
For I say unto you, that I will not eat any more at all of it until it be fulfilled in the kingdom of God.
This was the last Passover meal Jesus would share with His disciples before the cross, and He points past it to a fulfilment still ahead. Two questions follow: what fulfils the Passover, and which kingdom is He waiting for?
The Lord opens the meal by telling them how much He wanted it.
First of all, His desire is to eat that Passover meal with His disciples. He was the only One who knew what it meant. To Him it spoke of a burden no mere man ever carried or could carry. And yet He longed to eat that Passover before He suffered. He knew it came right before His death on the cross. Yet not one of the disciples wanted to eat it with Him as much as He wanted to eat it with them. This is love, and love is self-sacrificing.
This was the last Passover of its kind. Its meaning pointed forward to the cross.
So far, this was the last Passover kept as God meant it to be kept. When the Lord died and the Holy Spirit came at Pentecost, the Mosaic ritual began to fall away. Believers from among the Jews came to see that their place was outside the camp, and they left Jerusalem and the temple behind. The Lord's death fulfilled the Passover, just as the coming of the Holy Spirit fulfilled the feast of weeks. The blood of the Passover lamb was a picture of the blood of Christ. He is our Passover, and He has been sacrificed (1 Cor. 5:7). But at that moment the Passover was not yet fulfilled. So the Lord took part in it.
He eats with them. He does not drink with them. Then He puts something else in its place.
I think the account of the Passover in Luke shows the old system passing away and the new coming in. He shows true love to His disciples by eating with them for the last time — a token of affection, but He will not eat it any more. Then the Passover cup — fellowship and joy in it — He does not take at all. They are to divide it among themselves; He will not drink of it till the Kingdom of God comes. Then He sets up the new thing in His body broken — the remembrance of a new and better deliverance — and the Cross, the new covenant in His blood.
The change was not a repair of the old arrangement. The whole footing is new.
In the next place the Lord breaks every link with the old order of things. He says, "I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." In this verse the question is not setting up the kingdom, or establishing it as things were. He is about to establish things on a wholly new basis through redemption, through the work He was about to do before God.
Commentators differ over the timing of "the kingdom of God" here. Some read it as the kingdom that was about to arrive in a new, moral form:
It was about to come in a moral way. Luke holds to that great principle: God was about to establish His kingdom in what you may call the Christian system.
Others place it further ahead, at the day when Israel sees the One they rejected:
He would not eat the Passover again until its spiritual meaning is fulfilled in the kingdom of God. His own death did fulfil the meaning of the Passover. But Israel stays blind to this until they "look on Me, on Him whom they have pierced" (Zech. 12:10), and He will bring in the kingdom for that nation. Only then will the Passover be fulfilled for them.
He shares the food. He passes the cup to them untouched. One writer reads this as a refusal of gladness.
Why did He not take the cup? The Passover rules did not require it. "Now," said the Lord, "I will not taste joy." As an obedient Jew, He kept the Passover, but joy waited for Him in the kingdom. Till then, He knows no earthly joy.
- Desired — He longed for this meal knowing it was the last before the cross; He wanted it more than any of them did.
- Fulfilled — the Passover pointed forward, and His death answered it: "Christ, our Passover lamb, has been sacrificed."
- Finished — the last true Passover closed the old system. In its place He gave bread and cup, the memorial of a better deliverance.
- Delayed — commentators differ on the timing. Does "the kingdom of God" mean the kingdom coming now in a moral way, or the day when Israel sees the One they pierced?
- Deferred joy — He ate but would not drink. The cup of gladness waits for the kingdom.
And having received a cup, when he had given thanks he said, Take this and divide it among yourselves.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
For I say unto you, that I will not drink at all of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God come.
Jesus has just eaten His last Passover with His twelve apostles. He gives thanks over the cup, then hands it on without drinking. His words draw a line. Table joy with His friends on earth ends here, and only the coming kingdom will reopen it.
Luke records two cups that evening. This one belongs to the Passover meal. It is not the supper Jesus gives His disciples a moment later.
It was this cup that He told them to divide among themselves — not that of the Lord's supper. Our Lord Jesus never took part in His own supper. He shared the Passover supper, but not His own. For this is for us, being the witness of a redemption which He wrought for us (not for Himself, of course)... The Lord's Supper speaks to us of perfect peace through His suffering. He did not need it: He gave it all to us.
One writer explains His refusal from the history of the feast itself.
The original rules for the Passover say nothing about a cup. As Deuteronomy 16:3-8 shows us, there was no room for one, because the feast in the month of Abib was not a feast of joy. What God had instituted, the Lord conformed to. Of what man had added, the Lord did not partake. He did not, however, condemn the cup as wrong. But the time for joy that goes with full redemption had not come, so He did not drink of it Himself. When He had given thanks, He handed it to His disciples to divide among themselves.
There was a reason He would not drink.
He eats with them: He will not drink. Another cup was before Him. As for this cup, they were to take it, and divide it among themselves. It was not the Lord's Supper, but the Passover cup. He was about to drink of a far different cup, which His Father would give Him — the reality that the Passover pointed to, and the basis of the Lord's Supper.
Elsewhere Kelly names what that other cup held: "the cup of God's wrath against sin, in contrast with the joy symbolized by the ritual of the Passover" (William Kelly).
Why does the verse speak of wine at all?
The fruit of the vine is the sign of social joy, "wine which cheers the heart of God and man." They sprinkled it again and again in the burnt offerings and the peace offerings. Now, of this fruit of the vine He would drink no more, while His disciples would drink deeply of His death, the true drink... So His social life with His disciples here on earth was closed. It would never be renewed in the same way. They would enter spiritually into the power of His death, and one day they would be with Him again in joy in the kingdom of His Father.
Turpin sees Jesus taking openly the place that had always been His:
He was always the true Nazarite here on earth — separate from men, though living among them in all the grace of His heart. But now He openly takes up the character that had always been His inwardly.
Commentators differ on when that kingdom comes. Kelly points out that Luke does not use the phrase the way the other Gospels do.
The other Gospels connect it with the future. Luke speaks of what was to be made good shortly — "righteousness, and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit."
Another writer sees the same promise pictured long before, when Melchizedek met Abram after a battle:
He met him with the fruit of the vine which, as we know, is to be drunk in the kingdom. He refreshed Abram with a feast after the warfare was accomplished, and gave him a blessing from the possessor of heaven and earth. His acts, therefore, were those of one who was standing in the kingdom.
Luke gives the bare fact. The other two accounts add something.
Mark adds that in the coming Kingdom the fruit of the vine will have a "new" character. Matthew adds a further detail: the drinking will be "with you."
- Cup one. The cup He hands over is the Passover cup, not the Lord's Supper. He never drank His own supper, because it stands for a redemption He worked for others.
- Cup two. He passes the cup of joy because His Father holds out another cup to Him — the cup of God's wrath against sin.
- Cup refused. Wine is the sign of shared gladness. By refusing it He closes His social life with the disciples on earth and takes openly the place of the true Nazarite, separate from men.
- Cup promised. The delay is not a cancellation. Melchizedek's feast after the battle shows that the fruit of the vine belongs to the kingdom, once the warfare is over.
- Cup shared. Mark adds that the wine will be "new." Matthew adds that it will be drunk "with you" — not alone, but at a table shared again.
And having taken a loaf, when he had given thanks, he broke [it], and gave [it] to them, saying, This is my body which is given for you this do in remembrance of me.
On the night before He died, Jesus sat at the table with His disciples. He took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and put a lasting memorial of Himself into their hands. Two questions follow: what does the bread mean, and why does He ask us to remember Him?
The timing was deliberate. He gave this supper on the worst night of His life. Betrayal, denial and desertion were all waiting for Him.
The Lord was about to enter a dreadful conflict with all the powers of darkness. He was about to meet all the deadly hatred of man, and to drink to the last drop the cup of God's righteous wrath against sin. He had a terrible day ahead of Him — the most terrible ever faced by man or angel. Yet despite all this, we read that on "the night when he was betrayed" He took bread. What unselfish love this is! That same night was a night of deep sorrow, the night of His agony and bloody sweat. One disciple betrayed Him, another denied Him, and all of them deserted Him. On that very night, the loving heart of Jesus was full of thoughts about His Church.
Before He broke the bread, He thanked God. The cross was right in front of Him.
What a moment that must have been, when they heard Him giving thanks in view of His death on the cross! Thanksgiving, not prayer, occupied Him at that time. How this speaks to us! His act of giving thanks showed what He knew. Nothing could be added to increase the power of His atoning death. Once that death had taken place, nothing a sinner needs from a sacrifice would be missing. His thanksgiving fully proves that His sacrifice is enough, and that its power lasts.
Luke's wording is personal. Matthew and Mark record "for many." Luke records "for you," pointing straight at the people at the table.
Notice the difference in the words that set up the Lord's supper. Matthew and Mark have "My blood shed for many." Luke has "My body which is given for you" and "My blood which is shed for you." His love shines out in these words. Luke alone gives His loving request, "Do this in remembrance of Me."
So does the bread change? No — the words paint a picture.
"This is my body," are the Lord's words. There is no need, though, for fanciful ideas about the bread. Let us be clear: the material is bread, and it stays bread. He was using a figure of speech, the kind often on His lips… By saying "This is my body," He gave the loaf a special meaning. This loaf, and nothing else, was to be the emblem of His body, and so bring His body back to their minds.
He asks us to remember a Person. At the table everything else gives way to Him.
In coming together to break bread, we not only express the oneness of the body, show the Lord's death, and together await His return — we remember Him in a special way. Self drops out of sight — self with its failures, self with its blessings, self with its service. PEOPLE, however loved and honoured in their ministry, are ignored. The most pleasing circumstances, or the most depressing cares, are given no place. Meanwhile the LORD HIMSELF — Lord as the One who died — commands the heart and the mind of the believer. "Do this in remembrance of ME." This makes the Supper beautifully simple, yet precious beyond words.
The verse holds a command as well as a memory. That command calls for company.
In this loving request we have something to do, as well as someone to remember. It is also the expression of one body. "Do this" means an act we carry out with others. When we are alone, we may have sweet memories of the Saviour's precious words and ways, and of His suffering, even to death, for us. But here is something to do… If I do not do it, I do not carry out His mind.
This meal is not the Passover. The two look in different directions.
At the passover Israel remembered the LORD's goodness toward them; at the Lord's Supper the death of the Lord Jesus was to be before the mind… The passover looked back only. Keeping the Lord's Supper, we look back and we look forward, for as 1 Cor. 11:26 says, we show the Lord's death "until he comes." He died for us, and we eat of His supper in remembrance of Him.
- Love that night. He gave the supper on the night of betrayal — the setting proves the love behind the gift.
- Love thanking. He gave thanks before He broke the bread: His sacrifice would need nothing added to it.
- Love for you. Luke's "given for you" narrows the vast work of the cross down to the people at the table.
- Love pictured. The bread stays bread; it is the chosen emblem that brings His body back to mind.
- Love remembered. "In remembrance of Me" asks for Him, not for our benefits. "Do this" makes it an act we carry out together — looking back at His death, and forward to His coming.
In like manner also the cup, after having supped, saying, This cup [is] the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.
Luke's account of the last supper moves in two stages. First comes the Passover meal with His twelve disciples. Then, after it, He hands them something new: a cup He calls a covenant in His own blood.
One commentator marks the exact point where the old meal ends and the new one starts.
In Luke's account, the Passover Supper and the Supper He set up are clearly separate: verses 15-18 give the one, verses 19 and 20 the other. The Lord's words about the Passover show that the old order was closing.
Older English translations call the cup a "testament," meaning a will, and say the blood was "shed" where the ESV says "poured out." Commentators say the word means a covenant — an agreement — and that the context settles it.
"Testament" is here quite out of place; what does someone who guarantees a promise have to do with making a will? The word in itself can carry either sense... The context decides with certainty. In Matthew 26:28, Mark 14:24 and Luke 22:20, forgiveness of sins is tied directly to the "new covenant" (not testament), just as in Jeremiah 31:31-34. And what has "blood" to do with a "will"? That it should be the basis of a covenant is a familiar truth.
Jeremiah had announced a new covenant centuries earlier. Here the Lord adds what Jeremiah never said.
At last, in the upper room in Jerusalem, speaking only to the twelve disciples, the Lord referred to it — and in a way that showed heaven had not forgotten it... But He added two important details to what Jeremiah had revealed. First, the covenant would rest on the blood of a sacrifice. Second, that blood would be His own... The covenant will not be made with Christians, but with the house of Israel and the house of Judah — though Christians share, even now, in blessings connected with it: the knowledge of God and the forgiveness of sins.
The Lord gives the cup on its own, after the meal.
And so with the cup "after the supper," who could hesitate as to what that cup set forth? He Himself says, "In My blood." It is not blood inside the body, but blood apart from it, separated from it — that is, in death. The so-called "sacrifice of the mass" denies all of this.
Matthew's Gospel records "for many." Luke records "for you." One writer says this makes justification — being counted right with God — a personal matter.
Luke's point was not to say "for many." That was most fitting in Matthew's Gospel, because it shows that the power of Christ's blood reaches beyond the Jew... In Luke it is more personal, and so it deals more closely with the heart and conscience. Many a man accepts justification by faith in a general way. But the moment you make it personal, he shrinks from taking the place of a justified man, as if that would be too much for God to give him! In truth, no one can go on with God properly until divine grace settles the personal question. So the Lord here settles it for them personally.
That same blood is why a believer can come to His table at all.
From these words we learn that the blood of Christ is the only ground on which we can be at the Lord's table at all... Why is it that we can be in such sacred nearness without fear and dread? Why are we not ashamed of ourselves, with our eyes full of tears because of our sins? The answer lies in the words, "This cup is the new covenant in My blood, which is shed for you for the forgiveness of your sins. It is shed so that you may be with Me at My table, a blood-washed company that will remember My death and sound My praise through all eternity."
Commentators note a gap between the shedding of the blood and the making of the covenant.
The new covenant rests on the blood which is drunk here in symbol. The old covenant was set aside. Establishing the new one required blood. At the same time, the covenant itself was not yet established; but God had done everything on His side.
So where does that leave Christians?
Israel will enjoy the blessings of the new covenant, and that covenant will rest on the blood of Christ. Yet when the Lord set up His supper, He mentioned that covenant and then tied the blessings of the disciples — and ours too — not to a covenant that has never yet been made, but directly to His precious blood, shed long ago on the cross... We have nothing to do with the new covenant, though the blood it rests on is the blood in which we have an everlasting interest.
- Blood first. A covenant needs blood. Jeremiah never said whose blood it would be; the Lord names it as His own.
- Blood apart. The Lord gives the cup on its own. Blood outside the body means one thing: death.
- Blood for you. Luke's "for you" turns a wide truth into a personal one and settles the conscience.
- Blood as ground. That blood, and nothing else, lets a believer sit at His table without shame.
- Blood before the covenant. God's side is finished. The covenant itself still awaits Israel. Meanwhile, those who trust Christ already draw their blessing straight from the cross.
Moreover, behold, the hand of him that delivers me up [is] with me on the table;
The betrayer is not outside in the dark. He is at the table, within reach of Jesus. Two questions follow. How could the Lord sit there knowing it? And what does that moment teach everyone who has come to His table since?
Luke records these words after the bread and cup. That is not where they were spoken.
The Lord spoke the words of verses 21 and 22 during the Passover feast, before the Lord's supper was introduced. Luke only reported those words afterwards. He wanted to bring out the great contrast between the betrayer's cold unfaithfulness and the unswerving faithfulness and grace of the Lord Jesus, shown in the supper.
The Lord knew, and nothing in His manner gave it away. He says it out loud only now, at the last meal He shares with them.
The Lord announces that the betrayer is present at that last feast of love. How perfect the grace that knew the guilty soul, yet never once gave him away by His behaviour! How complete the deceit of the man who had so long heartlessly kept company with such a Master!
If God had already fixed the path to the cross, does that excuse Judas? The Lord's next words answer.
It comes with a stab of pain: the hand of the traitor is with Him on the table. The Son of Man was indeed going in the way determined. But that changed nothing about the guilt of the man who in his wickedness set himself to do what was the purpose of God. "Woe to that man," He says, "by whom the Son of Man is betrayed."
Judas was chosen by Jesus and sat at the closest table in the world. That is what makes him a warning.
One of the group chosen to be with Jesus here on earth would prove this terrible truth. The nearer a man stands to blessing on the outside, the further he is from it in heart, if he never takes it in. There was only one Judas in Israel, and he was the nearest to Jesus.
It is easy to treat these words as a fact to explain. One writer asks what the Lord felt as He spoke them.
Now, the Lord Jesus did feel the traitor's heartless ways (and we may learn it yet more from Psalm 109). We ought to feel it too. It is not enough to treat it as a thing that had to be, or a thing Scripture prepares us for, or a thing God's goodness turns to gracious ends. All that is true. But are such easy words enough for us, when we stand before His troubled spirit?
Commentators differ on whether Judas was still there when the bread and cup were given. One of them answers without hedging.
Not only at the Passover, but at the supper, our Lord says, "Behold, the hand of him who betrays Me is with Me on the table." We do not see how anyone can doubt that Judas was present at the supper. His character was known only to the Lord. His fellow apostles did not seem to have any suspicion of him. But to argue from this case that we ought to allow known evil at the Lord's table is simply wicked.
Whichever view you take, the same limit applies to us. What Christ knew by divine knowledge cannot become a rule for people who do not have it.
If anyone uses this to decide who may share fellowship now, you would have betrayers at the table. Also, no evil had shown itself, and you cannot put a man out where no evil has shown itself… The Lord knew it Himself, of course, by divine knowledge. But that is no ground for us to act on. The disciples knew nothing of it, and their conscience was not troubled about it.
The betrayal is not named here only.
The traitor is mentioned in both passages that tell us to keep the supper, Luke 22 and 1 Corinthians 11. This linking of the Supper with the betrayal is of the greatest importance. It sets two things side by side: the untrustworthiness and complete evil of the flesh, and the changeless, unconquerable love of the Lord. That love was tested and proved by His death, and the Supper keeps reminding us of it.
- Contrast — Luke sets the betrayer's hand next to the bread and cup on purpose. Cold treachery stands against unswerving grace.
- Concealed — the Lord knew, yet His behaviour never once gave Judas away. Grace kept the secret to the last meal.
- Charged — God had determined the path, yet that removed nothing from the guilt of the man who chose it.
- Close — Judas sat nearest to Jesus and was furthest from Him in heart. Outward nearness is not the same as taking the blessing in.
- Continuing — the flesh is still untrustworthy, so the supper keeps pointing us away from ourselves to a love that death could not break.
and the Son of man indeed goes as it is determined, but woe unto that man by whom he is delivered up.
The Lord names His own death as something already settled, and the writers take this as the ground of a believer's confidence. Nothing that men or Satan plot can push God's plan off course.
Judas could, after all, only accomplish the purpose of God, and this the Saviour pointed out... It is an immense support to the heart of the believer to know one thing. Neither the wickedness of man nor the schemes of Satan can frustrate any divine counsel. God makes rebels against their Maker, human or angelic, serve the final result He planned, and He does it against their will. Of course this does not lessen their wickedness in the smallest degree. God and His purposes have no place at all in their thoughts.
Does a settled plan make the man who carries it out less responsible?
God knows how to make the wrath of man praise Him and carry out His purposes of blessing. This does not lessen man's responsibility in the matter. Here is a clear instance of how the sovereignty of God and the responsibility of man do not clash in practice. We may still find the two hard to reconcile as a matter of theory.
Everything turns on the small word that follows. Judas carried out God's plan, and the sentence still falls on Judas.
Now at the table the Lord announces to them His departure from the world according to the Scriptures, and the terrible judgment of Judas. The carrying out of God's counsels does not take away the wickedness of those who carry them out. Otherwise how could God judge the world? For everything works together to carry out His counsels. Men's evil will too is always active in doing evil.
So what did God appoint in Judas, and what did He not?
Judas was not appointed to be a sinner, but, being a sinner, he was appointed to be a betrayer of Christ.
Luke places these words right after the supper, and the effect is deliberate. The traitor's hand and the Lord's are on the same table.
The Lord spoke the words of verses 21 and 22 during the Passover feast, before He gave them the supper. Luke reports those words only afterwards. He does it to bring out the great contrast between the betrayer's cold unfaithfulness and the unswerving faithfulness and grace of the Lord Jesus in the supper... Divine sovereignty had ordained that the Son of Man would go to the cross. Yet this took nothing away from the seriousness of human responsibility on the part of Judas.
The Lord knew who it was, and He never once let it show.
The Lord announces the betrayer's presence at that last feast of love. How perfect the grace that knew the guilty soul, yet never once gave him away by His behaviour! How complete the deceit of the man who had kept company so long, and so heartlessly, with such a Master!
Judas is not an outsider. He is one of the twelve chosen to be with Jesus, and that is exactly what makes the woe so heavy.
It was man's sin, Satan's cunning, God's counsel, and Christ's love. But none of these things altered the wickedness of Judas... One of that company chosen to be with Jesus here below was to prove an awful truth. If a man does not receive blessing into his heart, then the nearer he stands to it outwardly, the further he is from it morally.
The warning is not left in the past.
Scripture holds no slightest ray of hope for that man's soul. He is a most solemn warning to those who would dare to take a place outwardly near to the Lord while having no heart for Him personally.
Later in the same chapter the Lord foretells Peter's fall too. One writer sets the two men side by side.
The sin of Judas and the sin of Peter are both foretold. For Judas there was no forgiveness; for Peter there would be... In the case of Peter it was different. No Scripture is quoted as fulfilled by his fall, yet that fall was foreknown and foretold. For him the Lord prayed that his faith should not fail, and for him there was service in store.
- Determined — Christ's death was no accident. He went the way God had settled, and no scheme of man or Satan can overturn God's purpose.
- But — one small word keeps the guilt where it belongs. Carrying out God's plan never cancels the wickedness of the man who carries it out. Otherwise God could judge no one.
- Shaped, not made — God did not make Judas a sinner. Judas was a sinner already, and God gave that evil the shape His plan required.
- Nearness — a hand on the Lord's table proves nothing. The closer a man stands on the outside without Christ in his heart, the further away he stands in his soul.
- Woe or prayer — Peter fell too. But Christ prayed for him and had service in store for him, while for Judas there was no forgiveness.
And *they* began to question together among themselves who then it could be of them who was about to do this.
The Lord has just said that the hand of His betrayer is on the table with Him. The disciples turn to each other with a question none of them can answer. Their reaction is honest. It also shows how little they knew — about the man beside them, and about themselves.
The question could only arise because no one at that table had ever seen through Judas. The Lord had known for a long time, and had never let it show.
The Lord announces the betrayer's presence at that last feast of love. How perfect the grace that knew the guilty soul, yet never once gave him away by any change in behaviour! How complete the deceit of the man who had kept company for so long, so heartlessly, with such a Master!
That silence left the disciples with nothing to go on. Their question proves it.
The disciples asked who the Lord meant. That shows none of them had any suspicion, so it seems Judas had covered his deceit well.
They took the Lord at His word. But honesty and self-knowledge are not the same thing.
Yes, it was from all: our Lord had to meet shame from those He loved best. "They began to question one another, which of them it could be who was going to do this." There was honesty in these hearts; but what ignorance! what unbrokenness of self!
They put the question to each other. One writer shows why that never produced an answer.
The disciples first looked at one another. Then their consciences began to work, and they looked at themselves. Each one asked, "Is it I, Lord?" But this did not bring the answer. Peter was wholehearted, but he lacked spiritual understanding. He longed to know who the traitor was, but could not frame the right question. Why did he not ask the Lord Himself who would betray Him? Because he felt and knew, in the presence of the Lord, what we have often felt — that another was nearer to Him than himself. Peter did not have that freedom, so he signalled to another disciple to ask. Closeness comes out of love, and closeness is the source of real understanding.
The very next verse records a quarrel over who was the greatest. One writer sets the two verses side by side.
Jesus tells His disciples that His blood would be shed for them: "the hand of him who betrays me is with me on the table, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed." Then they question among themselves which of them it was who would do this. One might suppose that they would think of nothing except the death of their gracious Master; but no! "A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest." What a contrast! But if we examine our own hearts, we will usually find these two things together. There are real feelings that bear witness to our love for Jesus. Yet perhaps within the same half hour there are also thoughts as unworthy as this quarrel among the disciples.
Another writer marks how fast their view of themselves changed.
In the previous verse they were objects of suspicion; now they make themselves objects of importance.
Readers often ask whether Judas was still at the table when the supper was given. One writer answers that Luke's order does not settle it, and that the question changes nothing for us.
Luke reverses the order of this section and the one before it. But Luke's order is often not the order of time. The point, however, is not of doctrinal importance: few would say that a known traitor belongs at the Lord's table... And if Judas was present, the disciples still did not know what he was. The Lord knows every secret of the heart. But His knowledge clearly cannot be our guide, since we do not have it.
- Hidden. The Lord's manner never gave the betrayer away. So their puzzled question was real: no one at that table suspected Judas.
- Honest. Their question came from real hearts. They believed what Christ said, and each man looked at himself first.
- Ignorant. Honesty is not self-knowledge; the same men who asked "which of us?" had no idea what was in them.
- Exposed. Verse 23 searches self; verse 24 promotes self. The same two moods can live in one heart within half an hour.
- Answered. Asking one another produced nothing. The answer came through the disciple nearest to Jesus. Closeness to Him, not debate, brings real understanding.
And there was also a strife among them which of them should be held to be [the] greatest.
The Lord has just spoken of His body given and His blood poured out. He has named a betrayer at the table. At that exact moment His twelve disciples fall into an argument about rank. Why does Luke record the quarrel here, and what does the Lord do with men who want to be great while He walks toward the cross?
The dispute was not about ability but about reputation — who would be reckoned the greatest. One writer notes both the force of the phrase and the fact that Luke alone sets it at this point in the story:
"Should be held": American Revisers, "Was accounted." The order here is peculiar to Luke. According to his Gospel, the disciples must have had this contention twice over: see Luke 9:46.
The other Gospels report the same rivalry, but at an earlier and calmer point. Luke puts it where it stings most.
There was honesty in these hearts; but what ignorance! Self was still unbroken! "A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest." The other Gospel writers, as well as Luke, tell us that they were full of this unfitting rivalry while He was busy with His miracles and teaching. Luke mentions it where it was by far the most painful and humiliating — in the presence of the communion of His body and His blood, and just after they had heard that the traitor was there among them, offering to sell their Master for thirty pieces of silver!
His mind was full of what lay ahead. Theirs was full of themselves. That gap is not theirs alone.
For us the curtain is pulled back. When we read of this, we can hardly understand how they could be busy with such things; but we know what was about to happen. So many things have power to pull even us, who have more light than they had, away from the thought that filled the heart of Jesus then!
One writer traces this quarrel, and every quarrel like it since, back to a single root: wanting glory for yourself.
Nothing hurts the heart more, or weakens our testimony more, than the differences of judgment among the true people of God. In the second chapter of his letter to the Philippians, the Apostle traces all envy and strife to this one root — "vainglory" (Philippians 2:3). Even in the very presence of the Lord, the Apostles argued, because each wanted to be counted the greatest… And in our day, the same root explains all the division and strife among the people of God — someone wanted to be great.
The Lord does not deny that greatness exists. He shows where it is found. One writer sets the two kinds side by side.
There was also strife among them, each wanting the foremost place, and this just as their great Master was about to take the lowest place. Such, sadly, is the heart of man, even of believers. But it brought out very clearly the basic difference between the disciple and the world. Worldly greatness shows itself and holds on by ruling over others. Christian greatness takes a servant's place. In that greatness Jesus Himself stood above all.
The cure is not stricter rules about rank. It is nearness to Christ. Close to Him, self shrinks to nothing.
This is the most humiliating picture of man's heart. Right after the table where He showed His love, they argue about which of them should be the greatest. When you get near to Christ you feel as if every shred of yourself was gone… The more we are with Christ, the more we welcome obscurity, and He knows; that is enough. The soul that goes on with Christ can say, "Well, I am content to be nothing"… We never help anyone except by setting Christ before them.
The Lord answers their ambition with gentleness. He teaches them by His own example, and turns them away from pushing themselves forward.
The Lord, ever full of gentleness and meekness, forgets Himself in His care for His disciples… He knows how to teach them, by His own example, what the love of God is. At the same time He shows them the grace that is in Him, and all the faithfulness He has shown them, which puts them in His debt. It is as though He had said, You need not raise yourselves: my Father will raise you.
- Root — The strife has one source: someone wanted to be great. The same root divides believers still.
- Timing — Luke places the quarrel at the supper table, right after the bread and the cup and the news of a traitor. Nowhere could it look worse.
- Contrast — They reached for the highest place as their Master took the lowest. Worldly greatness rules; Christian greatness serves.
- Cure — Nearness, not better rules. Close to Christ, a person is content to be nothing, and helps others only by setting Christ before them.
- Grace — He does not crush them. He teaches by His own example, and tells them they need not raise themselves: His Father will raise them.
And he said to them, The kings of the nations rule over them, and they that exercise authority over them are called benefactors.
At the Lord's table the disciples argued about rank, and He answered by pointing to the kings of the Gentiles — the rulers of the nations. His words expose a title the world's rulers loved — and set a different standard for those who follow Him.
The timing is what makes this scene so painful. One writer notes that the other Gospel writers record the same rivalry at earlier moments. Luke places it at the most humiliating hour of all.
There was honesty in these hearts. But what ignorance! How unbroken their self-will was! Luke tells us that a quarrel also broke out among them over which of them should be counted the greatest. The other Gospel writers, as well as Luke, mention that they were full of this shameful rivalry while He was in the middle of His miracles and teaching. Luke records it at the point where it was by far the most painful and humiliating — during the sharing of His body and His blood, and just after they had heard that the traitor was among them, offering to sell their Master for thirty pieces of silver!
The word was not a description but a compliment — a public honour paid to men in power, and one they enjoyed hearing.
This was a term of praise and flattery, often used for rulers who loved to hear themselves praised. The Lord said it must not be so among His disciples. They had been arguing about who should be the greatest — and that while their Lord was on His way to the cross! Instead they should have taken a low place, following in His steps.
The title also had a history. Real rulers carried it as a name.
History knows one of the Ptolemies by the title of "benefactor," Euergetes, and people often gave the same title to the Roman emperor. But this flattery was not to exist among His disciples. Instead, the greater was to be as the younger, and the leader was to take the servant's place.
The flattering word covered something else. What these rulers did to people was not generosity.
People flattered the kings of the nations as "benefactors," while those kings were in fact putting others under their authority. Sinful human nature longs for such power over others, but believers were to have no such ambition.
One writer connects the rejection of the title to the way God gives. A benefactor hands down favours from a height; God's love does not work that way.
The Saviour does not give, like man, from high to low; that is why He rejects the word "benefactor."
One writer applies this to a woman who came to Christ for help. She gained more than the help she asked for.
Christ does not deal with her as a mere patron or benefactor. She has a share in Himself as well as in His power to bless her. And this is the gospel. The gospel tells us of our right to the "benefit," and of our share in the "Benefactor," that He is our Kinsman as well as our Deliverer.
There is a counterfeit of this that looks like humility. Commenting on the call to associate with people of low position, one writer warns against helping others in a way that quietly preserves your own superiority.
The idea of condescension goes against the teaching of both the Lord and His servant. It assumes we keep a sense of worldly superiority in our own hearts, because it means showing kindness to the lowly in a patronising way.
The pattern the Lord named did not stay outside the circle of His followers. It reappeared among them, which is why He warned of it at all.
Men soon twisted service into lordship. Yet our Lord took care to foresee the danger and warn of it. He also planted the principle of grace, which, if we hold it in faith, guards us from evil and shapes the heart according to God. This evil was so bold and so deeply rooted that it followed the apostles themselves right up to the last Passover and the Lord's Supper.
One writer applies this to claims of supremacy in the church itself.
Christ — so says the Holy Scripture — forbade Peter and his colleagues to reign, to exercise lordship, or to have authority over the faithful like the kings of the Gentiles.
- Title. "Benefactor" was flattery. Rulers loved to hear it: one Ptolemy carried it as a name, and Roman emperors received it too.
- Reality. Behind the compliment, these men were putting others under their authority. The word made domination sound like generosity.
- Refusal. Christ rejects the title because He does not give from a height downward, as men do.
- Relationship. He deals with us as a Kinsman, not as a distant patron. The gospel gives us a share in the Benefactor Himself, not only in His benefits.
- Risk. The quarrel over greatness broke out at the Lord's Supper. The same instinct later turned service into lordship in the church.
But *ye* [shall] not [be] thus; but let the greater among you be as the younger, and the leader as he that serves.
Jesus says this at the table on the night He was betrayed. The disciples had just been arguing over which of them was the greatest, and His answer turns the whole idea of rank upside down.
Commentators note where Luke places this quarrel: at the most painful moment possible.
There was honesty in these hearts; but what ignorance! What unbrokenness of self! "There was also a dispute among them about which of them should be considered the greatest." Other Gospel writers also mention this rivalry, which was out of place, while He was doing miracles and teaching. Luke mentions it at the most painful and humiliating point of all. It came while they shared in the communion of His body and His blood, and just after they heard that the traitor was among them, offering to sell their Master for thirty pieces of silver!
Verse 25 shows how power works in the world. Verse 26 draws the opposite line for the disciples.
There was also strife among them. Each one wanted the top place, and this just as their great Master was about to take the lowest place. Such, sadly, is the heart of man, even of saints. But it did bring out the basic difference between the disciple and the world very clearly. The world shows and keeps its greatness by taking the place of a master. Christian greatness comes from taking the place of a servant.
One writer finds the cure for their rivalry in nearness to Christ Himself.
This is the most humiliating picture of man's heart. Right after the table where His love is displayed, they argue about who should be the greatest. When you get near to Christ you feel as if every shred of yourself was gone. Verse 25 shows what goes on in the world; but verse 26 shows that Christianity is the total and entire opposite of it. It is a beautiful state of soul that brings a person into the place of being nothing, and glad to stay out of sight… The soul that goes on with Christ can say, "Well, I am content to be nothing."
The Lord did not only give the command. He was the living example of it, and He acted it out that same evening.
The Lord knew what was going on. He took the chance to teach them the lesson of true greatness, and also the favour in the kingdom in store for them all. True greatness would be shown in serving. And the Lord Himself showed this: "I am among you as the one who serves." What a rebuke! Had He not been serving all along? … What, too, must they have felt when they saw Him get up from the table, tie a cloth around Himself, and begin to wash the feet of each one of them (John 13)! For it was during the supper that the Lord stooped to that lowly service.
The verse speaks to "the leader," and the danger it corrects did not stop with the disciples.
Men soon turned service into lordship. Our Lord took pains to see the danger coming and to warn of it. He also planted the principle of grace, and that grace, if held in faith, guards from evil and shapes the heart according to God. This evil was so bold and stubborn that it followed the apostles themselves right up to the last Passover and the Lord's Supper.
A promise follows the rebuke at once. The Lord answers their scramble for rank by giving them a kingdom.
The Lord, always full of gentleness and meekness, forgets Himself in His care for His disciples. He says to them, "Let the greatest among you become as the youngest, and the leader as one who serves." He teaches them by His own example what the love of God is… It is as though He had said, You need not raise yourselves: My Father will raise you. "You are those who have continued with me in my trials, and I appoint to you a kingdom, as my Father has appointed to me."
- Rivalry. The argument over rank broke out at the supper table. The traitor sat there, and the Master was about to take the lowest place of all.
- Reversal. The world keeps greatness by holding the place of a master. Among disciples, greatness comes from taking the place of a servant. The two are opposites, not variations.
- Rule. "As the youngest" means being content to be nothing. That contentment comes from nearness to Christ, not from effort.
- Example. He had already lived the command, and He proved it that same evening by rising from the table to wash their feet.
- Reward. Turning service into lordship is the old danger. But no one needs to grab a place: the Father raises those who take the low one, and He appoints them a kingdom.
For which [is] greater, he that is at table or he that serves? [Is] not he that is at table? But *I* am in the midst of you as the one that serves.
The argument breaks out at the worst moment. Jesus is speaking of His betrayal and death, and His closest followers are arguing about which of them is the greatest. He answers with a question about rank at a table — and then puts Himself on the serving side.
One writer notes where Luke places this quarrel: at the table, moments after Jesus named the traitor.
There was honesty in these hearts, but what ignorance! How unbroken their self-will was! "A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest." Other Gospel writers, as well as Luke, mention their unfitting rivalry while He was in the middle of His miracles and teaching. Luke mentions it where it was by far the most painful and humiliating: at the sharing of His body and His blood, and just after they heard that the traitor was among them, offering to sell their Master for thirty pieces of silver.
Their scramble for the top place exposed two opposite ways of measuring greatness.
There was also strife among them, each wanting the foremost place, and this just as their great Master was about to take the lowest place. Such, sadly, is the heart of man, even of saints. Yet it brought out very clearly the basic difference between the disciple and the world. Worldly greatness shows and keeps itself by taking a place above others. Christian greatness takes a servant's place. In that greatness Jesus Himself was pre-eminent. Few words are more touching than this — "I am among you as the one who serves." Such had been His life of perfect grace, and such, in supreme measure, His death was about to be.
The title "benefactor" carried real weight in the world of that day.
The title of "benefactor," Euergetes, is the one by which one of the Ptolemies is known in history, and it was often given to the Roman emperor. But this flattery was not to be found among His disciples. Instead the greater was to be as the younger, and the leader was to be in the servant's place. In men's thoughts, who was the greater — the one at the table or the one who served there? What did they see in Him? The Greatest was the One who served them all!
The claim was not a mood or a general attitude. It described how He had lived in front of them for three years.
Consider what these words meant. When they woke in the morning, He had often been awake before them and had prepared their breakfast. They never needed a servant if He was near. His love made Him watch for chances to work on their behalf, and if there was one task more menial than another, that was the task He took. He, the Lord of glory, was the servant of those rough, unschooled fishermen. His love bound Him with unbreakable chains to a life of service. He is our pattern... He who loves most serves most, and he who would be most like his Lord must take the lowest place among his brothers, so that he may serve them all.
His service did not stop when His life on earth did.
In John 13, when the blessed Lord was going to glory, we would have said, there is an end of service. It is not so. He gets up from where He was sitting among them as a companion. He washes their feet — and that is what He is doing now... In Luke 12 we learn that He still continues the service in glory: "He will dress Himself for service and have them recline at table, and He will come and serve them." There we get His service in glory. It is His glory in love, though in the form of service... He never gives up the service. Selfishness likes to be served, but love likes to serve.
One writer adds a warning. These words can be misread as softness toward sin.
But do not use this precious word as a cover for indifference about evil. It does not mean He lovingly allowed the smallest evil or defilement. Nothing could be more false or more dangerous. He does not allow it, but lovingly takes the towel and dresses Himself to serve. He pours the water into the basin — not to allow or overlook evil, but to wash it away, to restore our consciences.
- Setting. The argument over greatness erupted at the table, moments after Jesus named the betrayer — the most humiliating moment possible for such a quarrel.
- Contrast. Worldly greatness takes the place above others and collects flattering titles. Greatness among His own takes the servant's place.
- Proof. He was describing His own life, not just stating a principle. He watched for chances to help them and took the lowest task — the Lord of glory serving fishermen.
- Permanence. He washed their feet on the way to glory, and Luke 12 shows Him serving still. Love likes to serve, so He never gives the place up.
- Purpose. His service is not indifference to evil. He takes the towel to wash defilement away. The same love should shape how His followers treat each other.
But *ye* are they who have persevered with me in my temptations.
At the Last Supper the disciples argued over which of them was greatest. In the middle of it the Lord named them as the men who had stood by Him through all He suffered. The words raise a hard question: how could He say this of men who were hours away from sleeping, denying and running?
The timing makes this startling. He speaks after one disciple's treachery and after their quarrel over rank.
And the bright day will come when Jesus will tell us what He told the disciples, "You are those who have stayed with me in my trials." This was after the discussion of who should be the greatest, after He had before Him the treachery of one disciple, and the unworthy vanity of the others. He knew all that they had been in the past, the trial they had been to Himself, their many weaknesses and failures. Yet He puts it as an honour to them.
Only Luke records these words of praise. The other Gospels tell the same night from a very different side.
Only Luke tells how graciously He noticed that they had persevered with Him in His trials. Both accounts, of course, were perfectly true. In Luke it was the reckoning of grace. It was really the Lord who had stooped to stay with them, and had held up their faltering steps. Yet He could say that they had stayed with Him. … It is always like this in grace. Matthew and Mark tell us the sad truth that, when He needed the disciples most, they all forsook Him and fled.
The wonder is not that they stayed. It is who kept them standing.
We know they would not have stood one hour with Him if His grace had not enabled them; and yet notice how He even gives them credit for what His own grace alone had wrought.
Older translations read "temptations" here. The word reaches back over His whole life on earth, not only to the night ahead.
But the Lord owns their faithful continuance with Him while in His trials. We know what they were like when the dark hour really came — asleep, or running away, or denying Him. That is how they were sifted. Yet by grace they had stayed with Him through the time of His humiliation and trials. He had submitted Himself to these in His life on earth, for man's sake.
He is not only crediting them. He is telling them what their love is worth to Him.
We do not believe enough in Christ's heart towards us, and we have not enough heart for Him either. He values our affections: "You are those who have stayed with me in my trials." What a Saviour He is!
Instead of settling their dispute over rank, He hands them a kingdom — which makes the argument pointless.
Then as to the future, what room could there be for strife among those who were all destined to sit on thrones? Would the Lord forget their service? Would He fail to value it rightly? Let Him speak, and settle that: "You are those who have stayed with me in my trials." So none of them will be forgotten in the coming day. Continuance with Him to the end will certainly have its recognition and full reward.
Rank is His Father's to give, not theirs to grab.
He knows how to teach them, by His own example, what the love of God is; and at the same time He shows them the grace which is in Him, and all the faithfulness for which they are indebted to Him. It is as though He had said, You need not raise yourselves: my Father will raise you.
They had kept company with a rejected King.
Those who had been the companions of the rejected Messiah would be the companions of the glorified Messiah. As His Father had appointed Him a kingdom, the reward of His humiliation and faithfulness, so He appointed one to them, to share with Himself.
What He said to those first disciples holds for His own today.
Those men whom our Lord chose to be with Him wherever He went on earth were wayward and full of failure. Yet how blessed and encouraging it is to find Him giving them the credit of faithfulness in the end … And so it is with us today who are Christ's own — "who by God's power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time" (1 Peter 1:5).
- Grace speaks first. He commends them right after the betrayal and the quarrel over greatness — He honours them in full view of their failure.
- Grace supplies what it credits. They could not have stood one hour on their own; it was He who stayed with them, and yet He calls the perseverance theirs.
- Grace looks back over a life. "My trials" reaches across His whole path of humiliation on earth, not only the coming night.
- Grace hands out a kingdom. He forgets nothing they gave Him. Companions in His rejection become companions in His glory. Men headed for thrones need not argue about rank.
- Grace still reckons this way. The Father raises His own, so we need not raise ourselves. His power keeps us to the end.
And *I* appoint unto you, as my Father has appointed unto me, a kingdom,
The Lord speaks these words at the supper table on the night of His betrayal. The twelve have just been arguing over which of them is the greatest. His answer is not a rebuke about rank but a gift: He hands them a kingdom on the same terms He received one from His Father.
One commentator weighs the Greek word behind "assign" (older translations read "I appoint") and rules out any idea of a will:
"I appoint," διατίθεμαι. Not "I bequeath": compare Jeremiah 31:31 in the Greek Old Testament. As far as we know, the Jews used no wills at the time when the Gospel of Luke and the Letter to the Hebrews first circulated.
The setting makes this startling. He gives away a kingdom while His enemies wait at the door:
Think what a moment this was for Him. Think of the surroundings He was in — sorrow and rejection, and men waiting outside to drag Him away to death. Yet He speaks about the kingdom. The kingdom was present to Him, and He says, "I appoint to you a kingdom." Only a man in power and position can talk about appointing.
The men receiving this kingdom would abandon Him within hours. Yet He has just said they stayed with Him through His trials — and one writer points out that Luke alone preserves this side of the story:
Matthew and Mark, and even John, make their forsaking of Christ very obvious a little later. Luke alone tells how graciously He noticed their perseverance with Himself in His trials. Both, of course, were perfectly true. In Luke it was the reckoning of grace. It was really the Lord who had chosen to continue with them, and had sustained their faltering steps.
He treats His people the same way still, right up to the day each of them stands before Him:
Because He loves them, He delights to say everything He can in their favour. He delights to say all He can for each of us; and when we stand before the judgment seat, He will surprise us. Little things we had forgotten He will remember and bring up in our favour.
He ends the argument over greatness by pointing to what His Father will do:
The Lord, always full of gentleness and meekness, forgets Himself in His care for His disciples… He knows how to teach them, by His own example, what the love of God is. At the same time He shows them the grace that is in Him, and all the faithfulness they owe to Him. It is as though He had said, You need not raise yourselves: my Father will raise you.
The clause "as my Father assigned to me" places Christ Himself in the position of a receiver. He did not seize the crown any more than He seized the priesthood:
The kingdom is a delegated thing, a stewardship. All is subjection: His days of kingly power, His days of self-emptying sorrow, His days of heavenly priestly ministry. All alike are subjection and service. Christ did not glorify Himself to be made a High Priest. The One who glorified Him said to Him, "You are My Son; today I have begotten You." So we may say He did not glorify Himself to be made a King either. The One who glorified Him said to Him, "Sit at My right hand, until I make Your enemies Your footstool."
The kingdom is theirs, but not yet. The waiting itself has a purpose:
They could expect present trial. Yet He appointed His disciples a kingdom — future indeed, but such as the Father had appointed to Him to be revealed in due time. They would have to wait for the time of this glorious exaltation, when they would be feasted in His kingdom and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. This judging will be an administrative government in the Millennium, for which suffering with Him has fitted them.
Our reign waits on His:
We shall reign with Christ; but even He sits on the Father's throne as yet. He waits to receive His own throne; and so do we much more. If our hearts were right, we should not want to reign without Him… He will come in His kingdom, which He has not yet received. Until then our calling is to endure, not to reign. When He appears, we shall appear with Him; when He reigns, so shall we with Him.
- Appointed, not bequeathed — the word is a formal assignment made by One in power. It is not a will left behind by a dying man.
- Received before given — Christ takes the kingdom from His Father's hand, just as He took the priesthood. He hands it on to His people on the same terms.
- Grace speaks first — He credits the twelve with standing by Him, when in truth He had stood by them. He still says everything He can in His people's favour.
- Rivalry answered — no one needs to lift himself up when the Father will do it. The promised kingdom leaves the argument over greatness with no point at all.
- Endure now, reign then — He waits for His own throne, and His people wait with Him. Today's trial trains them for the government to come.
that ye may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.
At the last supper the disciples argued over who was the greatest, and Jesus answered with a promise of a table and thrones. His words raise three questions: what kingdom, what eating and drinking, and which twelve tribes?
The promise comes at an ugly moment, and the Lord meets it with grace.
Luke records a humbling moral fact: even here they argued about who should be greatest — at such a moment! But it gave an opening to the perfect and patient grace of Christ. He could teach them the true path of glory He had followed: humility, and being servant to all... He appointed them a kingdom, as His Father had appointed one to Him. So they would be at table in His kingdom, and sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel. The very greatness of the glory and the blessing ought to silence the dispute.
It is easy to read this promise as payment for loyalty. One commentator rejects that reading, pointing to what these men did within hours.
The Lord speaks of His own in a grace which secures them from all their slips and follies. To take His words here, or anywhere else, as a reward for their righteousness is distressing error and real self-righteousness. In fact they failed badly, and Peter in particular. How can saints be so blind as to argue the contrary?
Commentators differ over how far our conduct shapes our place in the kingdom. Another writer holds grace and reward together.
We must never confuse the doctrine of grace with that of reward. Grace pardons our sins and gives us a place in heaven; our ways in practice will determine our place in Christ's kingdom. We must never use the doctrine of grace to deny that of rewards. But Christ Himself must always be the motive for the saint's daily, hourly walk.
The picture is a meal. One writer denies that literal food is the point.
I do not think the eating and drinking refers to any physical eating in the kingdom on earth. It means their being with Christ in the glory in which He rules over the earth, seated at His table as the King's accepted ones. Then, as such people would naturally do, they rule over His subjects — and here in the most favoured position. The thought starts from verse 27.
Another writer draws out what Christ Himself does at that table when He returns.
So He will return a second time to the earthly objects of His affection, to renew His intimacy with them in the millennial age. He will again come forth and serve them — yes, gather them around Himself, as He said: "that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel."
Judging here means a share in running the kingdom during the Millennium — Christ's thousand-year reign on earth. It is still future.
They could expect present trial. Yet He appointed His disciples a kingdom — future, but the same kind the Father had appointed to Him, and it will be revealed in due time. They would have to wait for that glorious exaltation. Then they would feast in His kingdom and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel. This judging will be administrative government in the Millennium, and suffering with Him has fitted them for it. Then indeed they will have no such attitude of seeking to exalt themselves, and only then will He exalt them.
The promise names twelve tribes. Nobody today knows where ten of them are.
No one knows clearly or certainly where the ten tribes are. It does not seem to be anyone's business to search them out beforehand. We may leave them in the obscurity that God has put them in. We know, if we believe His word, that as surely as He has preserved the scattered remnant of the two tribes, so will He bring the descendants of the ten out of their hiding place. We know that not only the Jews proper are to be restored, but the full nationality of Israel — the full twelve tribes making one nation in the land, with one King over them all. Every letter of the promises will be accomplished. Scripture cannot be broken.
- Occasion. The quarrel over greatness is what draws out the promise; the size of the coming glory is meant to end the argument.
- Gift. He appoints them a kingdom, as the Father appointed one to Christ — not wages for their record, which failed within hours.
- Table. Their place at His table means being with Christ in His glory, as the King's accepted ones. And He will serve them there.
- Throne. The judging is real government in the coming kingdom. It waits for the time He has set.
- Tribes. Twelve thrones need twelve tribes. God knows where the lost ten are, and He will restore the whole nation.
And the Lord said, Simon, Simon, behold, Satan has demanded to have you, to sift [you] as wheat;
The Lord warns Peter about something happening out of sight. Satan has asked for the disciples, and God has said yes. Why would God hand His own people over to be shaken? And what remains when the shaking ends?
The word behind "demanded" is not a casual wish. One commentator, noting the force of the Greek, explains what kind of asking this was:
"Has begged" is the sense here. The ek in exētēsato points to intensity and persistent asking.
But pressing hard is not the same as having power. Satan must ask, and God sets the limits:
Always remember: no matter what Satan wants, he cannot touch one hair of our heads without God's permission. Both Job and Simon were in Satan's hands for a time, but in each case Satan could go only as far as divine wisdom allowed him. God let Satan lead Simon into a temptation, and Satan made him fail in it. Yet all Satan really achieved was to destroy Simon's self-confidence. He could not destroy his faith.
The picture is a threshing floor, and the word itself tells the story:
Peter and all the disciples were to be "sifted like wheat." But every trial any child of God goes through is sifting. That is what tribulation means, and "in the world you will have tribulation" is a sure word. The word comes from the tribulum, the threshing tool that separated the wheat from the chaff. Loss of loved ones, sickness, personal suffering, loss of possessions, hard circumstances, strong temptation — all these sift the wheat from the chaff. And Satan is not far away when the sifting begins.
The enemy expected an empty sieve. He had miscalculated what he was sifting:
As in Job's case, the enemy had presented himself before God to accuse them. He chose the moment that suited his plans, when the Lord would be taken from them and they would have no visible protection. He asked to put them into the sieve. He was certain that nothing would remain which God could accept. This way he thought to wrench them away from Christ, but he was mistaken. No doubt nothing of man would remain in the sieve; but what God had worked in the disciples must remain. In his hatred Satan forgot that if he had all power over the flesh, he had none at all over God and what comes from Him.
The Lord names Simon, but the demand covers the whole group. Older English translations showed a difference modern English hides: "you" for them all, then "thee" for Simon by himself. That change points to where the crack was:
You notice the change. "Satan demanded to have you." It was not only Simon, though He addresses Simon — Satan wanted them all. "But I have prayed for you." Why for Simon alone, and not for them all? Because Satan was making a dead set at Simon, and what gave Satan the opening was this: Simon's self-confidence. Confidence in what? In his natural character? Not at all — in his love for the Lord. If his confidence had been in the Lord's love to him it would have been a very different matter.
Satan asked for all of them. The Lord had already prayed before Peter knew anything was wrong:
Peter did not yet know his danger or his need. Before he knew either, the Lord prayed for him. … He had demanded to have them all so that he might sift them like wheat. He did not get them. Peter did go astray by rushing into temptation, but God heard the Lord's intercession for him.
The prayer that follows did not ask God to cancel the trial:
The Lord said, "Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you." What did He ask — that Peter should not be sifted? No, not at all. Peter needed sifting, because he had confidence in the flesh. But the Lord prayed that his "faith may not fail." That is, Peter would be held up under his trial. His heart would not lose its grip on Christ. He would be sure of His love and get the blessing intended.
God used Satan for this work. That is startling, and there is a line the enemy cannot cross:
Peter needed sifting, and God employed Satan to do the work — just as with Job, and the man in 1 Corinthians 5. It seems very wonderful, very mysterious, very solemn, that God should use Satan like this. Yet so it is. God uses him "for the destruction of the flesh." He cannot touch the spirit. That is eternally safe. But it is terrible work to get into Satan's sieve.
- Asked — the demand was urgent and insistent, but Satan still had to ask. The enemy moves only as far as God permits.
- Granted — God allowed the sieve because Peter trusted his own love for the Lord, and that confidence had to break.
- Sifted — trial is the threshing tool that separates wheat from chaff. Nothing of man survives it. What God has worked in a person remains.
- Guarded — Satan wanted the whole group and got none of them. He can reach the flesh; he cannot touch the spirit, and Peter's faith held.
- Ahead — the Lord prayed for Peter before Peter knew he was in danger, and that prayer was heard.
but *I* have besought for thee that thy faith fail not; and *thou*, when once thou hast been restored, confirm thy brethren.
On the night before the cross, Jesus warns Simon Peter that Satan has asked for him. He then speaks of a prayer already made, and of what Peter must do after the fall. Two questions follow. What did Christ actually ask for? And why did He not ask that Peter never fall?
The timing is the heart of it. Christ speaks of the prayer in the past tense. Peter is still standing, still confident, still hours away from his fall.
With Peter, it was not after he had fallen that Christ says to him, "I have prayed for you," but before. His intercession for Peter was going on all the time. He exercises it because we go wrong, not because we are right. Our feebleness and failure become the occasion for the exercise of this grace.
That order changes how we understand repentance. Peter's tears did not unlock Christ's help. They came from it.
Repentance is the effect of His advocacy... He prayed for him before the sin was committed. Then He looked at Peter at the right moment. Peter repented, went out and wept bitterly. But He had prayed for him before he repented.
Look at what Christ asks for. He does not ask that Peter escape the fall.
"I have prayed for you, that" — what? Was it that he might not fail? No, but that, having failed, his faith might not give way. Had Christ not prayed for His poor, feeble servant, he would have gone from bad to worse, and from worse to worst. But the intercession of Christ obtained for Peter the grace of true repentance, self-judgment and bitter sorrow for his sin. In the end it brought complete restoration of his heart and conscience.
Sifting separates grain from husk. So there must be grain there in the first place.
Notice, Satan sifted him just because he was wheat. Perhaps you have sometimes wondered whether there was any wheat there at all. If there were no wheat there would be no sifting. Satan never sifts mere chaff... And he will do the same with any of us, if we are not watchful and do not judge ourselves.
In verse 31, "you" is plural in the original. Here it is singular. Christ turns from the group to one man.
The Lord Jesus told Peter that Satan had desired to have "you" (a plural word), that is, all the disciples... But it is Peter alone to whom He says, "I have prayed for you (singular) that your faith may not fail."... The Lord Jesus, as the faithful Advocate, prayed for Peter before his fall. Certainly then Peter's faith did not fail, though he failed.
Older translations read "when you are converted." That wording confuses readers, because Peter already believed. The word means turning.
The word translated "converted" means turning to God. It covers conversion at the start, and also turning back after someone has departed from Him. The second is of course what is meant here. It is what we usually call "restoration" of soul, not what most people mean by "conversion."
Notice what Christ tells the restored man to do — and what He does not tell him.
He does not say, "When you are restored, take care you do not fall again." He says, "When you are restored, strengthen your brothers." That is what Christ cares about. You must learn from failure; but when you are restored, strengthen the brothers. That is our business, and we can only strengthen each other by the ministry of Christ.
It also answers the instinct to write off anyone who has fallen.
He was the object of such grace, and of the power that drew him back again. That fact would give confidence not only to him, but to them. So it is quite wrong to say that God does not restore a man, or that you must never trust someone who has once broken down... Peter broke down here, and he broke down later just as seriously: he failed over the Gentiles — the non-Jews God had sent him to welcome... Even so, no one except perhaps the apostle Paul was used by God more to strengthen his brothers. I think it is a serious thing to weaken the source of confidence in a soul that has slipped aside.
- Asked — Satan demanded all the disciples. Christ answered by praying for one man by name.
- Prayed — Christ prayed before the sin, not after it. Peter's tears were the fruit of that prayer, not the price of it.
- Held — Christ did not ask that Peter avoid the fall, but that his faith not give way. Peter failed; his faith did not.
- Turned — "converted" here means restoration of a believer who has wandered, not the first turning of a sinner to God.
- Strengthened — Christ's aim was not caution but usefulness. The man who fell became the one who could steady others.
And he said to him, Lord, with thee I am ready to go both to prison and to death.
Peter has just heard that Satan asked to have him. He does not ask for help. He pledges his own strength instead, and commentators read that answer as the exact spot where his fall began.
The timing of Peter's words makes them serious. He speaks right after the warning about Satan. One writer shows what he should have said instead.
No sooner has the Lord said, "Satan has desired to have you," than Peter says, "I am ready." You get the secret of Peter's fall in these words. Had Peter been right, he would not have said, "I am ready." He would have prayed, "Lord, do keep me; Lord, do help me; Lord, do not let me fall under Satan's power." But he was self-confident. Self-confidence is, I believe, the cause of all our failure. Self-distrust, on the other hand, is the secret of our getting on with the Lord.
The warning did not shake Peter. One writer names what was speaking in him.
The Lord now (v. 33) let Peter's self-confidence show itself plainly. "Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death." "I am ready." This was the flesh, ready to face everything. The flesh even when warned is always self-confident. If it had had even one atom of strength, the Lord's solemn warning should have kept it from falling.
Peter was not pretending. He simply did not know his own heart.
We do not in the least question Peter's sincerity. We feel perfectly sure he meant all he said; and, further, that he had not the most remote idea of what he was about to do. He was ignorant of himself, and we generally find that ignorance and self-confidence go together. Self-knowledge destroys self-confidence. The better you know yourself, the more you must distrust yourself.
We usually date Peter's failure from his denial. One writer dates it from this sentence.
But at that moment Peter's self-confidence was so strong that he all but told the Lord He was wrong. He said to Him that he was ready to go with Him to prison and to death. His denial later was a sad shame. Yet his self-confidence was a worse evil than his denial, because it was the root cause of that denial.
One writer sets Peter beside Ittai, a foreigner whose eye was on his lord and not on himself.
What a contrast between this stranger and Peter, the Jewish disciple who had followed the Lord from the beginning. Oh, how quick Peter was to speak, though Jesus never asked him to: "Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death." Peter thought of what he himself was. Ittai thought of what his lord was to him. Poor Peter! He never suspected it, but his faith was the smallest and poorest faith there could be, for he had a high opinion of himself.
Peter's pledge also set him above the other disciples. One writer calls that pride.
His pride also made him speak lightly of the love of his fellow-disciples. He implied that they might well desert their Master. But his own love for his Master, he suggested, was so much deeper and truer than theirs that such shameful behaviour was impossible for him.
The story does not end with the boast collapsing. One writer follows Peter to the end of his life.
Jesus assures him that if he had failed to confess Him by his own will, God's will would let him do it. God's will would grant him to die for the Lord, as he had once declared himself ready to do in his own strength. Now Peter was humbled and brought fully under grace. He knew he had no strength. He felt his dependence on the Lord, and his utter inability if he trusted his own power. Now the Lord calls Peter to follow Him... what he had claimed he could do and could not, he would now do: follow Christ to prison and to death.
- Ready. Peter meets a warning about Satan with a claim about himself. The right reply would have been a prayer: Lord, keep me.
- Root. Writers trace the denial back to the self-confidence in this verse, which makes it the worse evil of the two.
- Ignorance. He was sincere and meant every word — ignorance of self and confidence in self travel together.
- Direction. His eye was on what he was for Christ, rather than on what Christ was to him.
- Grace. Broken and dependent, Peter later received by God's will the very thing he had offered in his own strength: prison and death for his Lord.
And he said, I tell thee, Peter, [the] cock shall not crow to-day before that thou shalt thrice deny that thou knowest me.
In the upper room, hours before the arrest, Peter has just said he is ready for prison and death. Why does the Lord answer with a timetable for his fall — a rooster, a night, three denials?
Peter's answer treated the warning as an overstatement, and the Lord did not soften it. One writer looks past the coming denial to what lay under it.
At that moment Peter's self-confidence was so strong that he all but told the Lord He was wrong. He said he was ready to go with Him to prison and to death. His denial later was a shameful thing. Yet his self-confidence was a worse evil than his denial, because it was the root cause of it. The Lord had the last word, however. He told Peter firmly that the rooster would not crow until Peter had three times denied that he knew Him.
Moments earlier the Lord had called him Simon. Now He uses the other name, and one writer asks what the change was for.
"Peter." Compare verse 31, "Simon." Was it not now to say that, strong as he was, he needed reminding of his weakness?
One writer counts this warning as a step in Peter's restoration, and draws a rule from it.
The second step in Peter's restoration was the Lord's warning. Will we not find that no saint ever fell without a warning first? Filled with self-confidence we may pay little or no attention to the warning. But in some form or another the warning will come. How direct it was in Peter's case, for the Lord said, "I tell you… until you deny three times that you know Me."
Peter's problem was not that the words were unclear. He did not believe they were true of him, and that unbelief left him unguarded.
Peter did not believe our Lord's warning. If he had, he would not have entered into temptation, but would have watched, prayed, and been kept through faith. So he had to learn by bitter experience what the flesh is. The word was not mixed with faith in his soul when the Lord warned him so solemnly. He was confident in himself… it was confidence built on his own estimate of what his love for Jesus would enable him to do or bear.
The precision of the verse — this day, three times — points to something only God has. And the Lord had already acted on what He knew.
Foreknowledge is a divine attribute. Satan does not have it, but the Lord does. He knew that Satan was plotting to destroy the faith of Simon Peter. He also knew that the self-confidence of His disciple would make him easy prey. But the Lord was ahead of Satan. He had secured for Peter beforehand the grace that preserved his faith despite his great failure… Peter thought he was equal to any test. He thought he knew himself better than the Lord knew him.
The verse can sound like rejection. One writer reads it as love making provision in advance for the worst moment.
Love not only brings us into all that it has. It also holds firm and makes provision in advance for the greatest possible strain — the moment when every appearance must condemn the one loved. Yet it was no lack of love that exposed Peter to the sin of denying his Master. It was his self-confidence that wrecked his faithfulness. Through grace alone his faith did not fail utterly.
One writer takes the word Peter forgot and turns it on the reader.
Peter should have remembered the word that Jesus had said to him, and been warned by it. I ask you, my Christian reader: is the rooster crowing for you today? That is, is the Word of the Lord speaking to you today about something? If so, pay attention to it, and get nearer to Jesus… Peter paid no attention to the first crowing of the rooster. He went on to deny Him again, with oaths and cursing. Then, as the rooster crowed a second time, I seem to see him pull himself up and remember that he had done the very thing his Master said he would do.
- Warned — the Lord named the sign and the number. Writers note that no believer falls without a warning first.
- Root — the denial was the fruit. The self-confidence that contradicted Christ was the worse evil, and the real cause.
- Unbelief — Peter heard the warning but did not mix it with faith. So he never watched or prayed, and walked into the test unguarded.
- Grace ahead — the Lord was ahead of Satan. He had secured the grace that kept Peter's faith from failing.
- Restored — the warning was already a step in Peter's restoration. The fall was never the end of his story.
And he said to them, When I sent you without purse and scrip and sandals, did ye lack anything? Andthey said, Nothing.
On the night before the cross, Jesus asks His disciples about their first mission — the one He sent them on with nothing in their hands. Their one-word answer settles the question of His care, and it sets up the change He is about to announce.
The three items cover what a traveller would pack: money, a bag for food, and spare footwear. Sent out with none of it, they looked dependent on the kindness of strangers. That appearance was not the whole story.
These ambassadors, these messengers, were to depend on strangers to supply their bodily needs — outwardly, at least. We say outwardly for a reason. They did receive the generosity of their hosts in each village where they preached and were welcomed. But it was the Lord who had sent them who would incline those hearts to be favourable to them. And so it was, as they later acknowledged.
Jesus does not tell them He provided. He asks, and lets them say it. The mission itself taught them what He could do.
These directions prepared the apostles to learn the basic but vital lesson of spiritual service from experience. That lesson is dependence on God for the things the Gentiles are always chasing after. During their mission they would find that their Master had control of providence as well as of winds and waves and demons. And we know from history, by their own confession, that the Lord did care for them without fail.
"Nothing lacking" did not mean plenty. The record of their travels shows real hardship alongside real supply.
You find the nature and manner of His care all through His life on earth. He said, "While I was with them, I kept them in Your name." It was not riches He gave them. They were so poor they had to rub ears of corn in their hands for food. Yet when He asked, "When I sent you out with no moneybag or knapsack or sandals, did you lack anything?" they said, "Nothing."
With their testimony given, He at once reverses the order. He tells them to take the purse and bag He had forbidden.
Then the Lord tells them now to provide themselves with purse, bag and sword. The very things they were not to take before, they were to take from that time. The Lord cancels what He had commanded earlier, as far as the special circumstances were concerned. His goodness and love to them, and their walking in wisdom and harmlessness, would remain; but the particular character of this mission ended at the death of Christ.
Something had changed between that first mission and this night.
Before the Lord's death the world did not hate the apostles. After it, the world that had always hated Him hated them too. They then went out as messengers and servants of the crucified One, in a cause that to outward eyes had already been defeated. Hence the change in the Lord's directions about carrying what they needed for the journey.
The change touched more than their luggage.
His earthly, temporal guardianship, which kept them for this world, would be lost. How He kept the disciples then, and how He keeps the saints now, is quite different. Then He kept them for earth — now for heaven. He kept them according to the place and system in which He exercised His power.
The packing list changed; the Sender did not.
They were to go out with no provision made. This made them completely dependent on the Lord who had sent them. Trust in the Lord, who sends out the labourer, is another principle that belongs to this age as well. All disappointment and discouragement for the servant of Christ comes in when he looks not to the Lord but to man. The Lord never disappoints. The Lord who calls His servants and sends them out always keeps them when they walk in simple dependence on Him.
That trust has a sharp edge. It frees a servant from needing the world's backing.
Nothing has so corrupted Christianity as the acceptance of worldly help to advance its aims. … Is He less tender in His care over His servants now that He is glorified at the right hand of God? A noble army of devoted servants in every part of the world will gladly testify that they too have lacked nothing. They had no guaranteed support from man, and they refused help from the world.
- Sent empty. Jesus sent them out with no money, no bag and no spare sandals. They had to depend on the One who sent them, not on what they carried.
- Kept fully. They were poor enough to rub ears of corn for food. Yet He ordered events and inclined hearts, so nothing they needed ever failed.
- Tested by experience. He asks instead of telling them. Their own answer, "Nothing," proves that their Master controlled providence as surely as wind and waves.
- Changed method. With His death near, the arrangement that suited His visible presence closes. Commentators call it the loss of an earthly guardianship that kept them for earth. What replaces it keeps them for heaven.
- Unchanged Sender. The instructions altered; His care did not. Servants who still trust Him, and refuse the world's backing, give the same answer: nothing lacking.
He said therefore to them, But now he that has a purse let him take [it], in like manner also a scrip, and he that has none let him sell his garment and buy a sword;
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
for I say unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me, And he was reckoned with [the] lawless for also the things concerning me have an end.
Hours before He is taken, the Lord tells His disciples that everything is about to change — for them and for Himself. He points to one line of Scripture that must be fulfilled in Him, and He says His own public work has now reached its end.
Something changes at this moment, and it is not the Lord's power. He would still heal the ear of Malchus, the man wounded when they came to arrest Him.
His path changed from the active exercise of power in love to the patient suffering of the will of God. He had not lost the power, as the healing of Malchus showed. He had come to the point where the other things written about Him had to be accomplished. HIS HOUR HAD COME.
Most English Bibles say "transgressors." The Greek word behind it reaches wider than that.
The word is anomos. In 1 Corinthians 9:21 it is translated "without law." It describes people who ignore all law and do their own will, as in Acts 2:23; 2 Thessalonians 2:8; 1 Timothy 1:9; 2 Peter 2:8. The King James Version wrongly translates it "transgressor" in Mark 15:28 and Luke 22:37.
The Lord does not present this as likely. He says a sentence already written must be accomplished in Him. One writer places that inside the wider pattern of prophecy about His work.
Remarkably, God, in His sovereignty, used wicked enemies (who remain fully responsible for what they did) to fulfil His counsel and the Scriptures.
Men later put Him exactly where the prophecy said He would be. They meant it as contempt. God used it to keep His word and to save a dying man.
To humiliate the Lord Jesus, they crucified Him between two robbers, and in this way numbered Him with the transgressors. Mark says nothing more about it. But Luke 23:39-43 shows us that God's sovereign power and grace was over this. He used it to bring one of these men to genuine repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus. He also used it to show the solemn fact that Christ crucified is the great Divider between the lost and the saved.
One writer sets this against the company He once kept:
He was numbered with the transgressors — He who had had Moses and Elijah on either side of Him!
Commentators are careful here. How men treated Him is one thing. His bearing of sin is another. Both meet at the cross.
Jesus was about to be given up into the hands of wicked men. The protection thrown around Him, and around them, was now to be taken away. This is clearly not a question of atonement. It is a question of suffering and rejection that others can share, as the apostle plainly teaches in Philippians 3:10. Men despised and rejected Jesus, and in the end God gave Him up to it. Besides that, He "who knew no sin" was about to be "made sin" for us.
Another writer puts the two side by side and weighs them.
He was to be numbered with transgressors; but far more than that, He was really to bear Divine judgment for sinners.
The closing clause of the verse — in the ESV, "what is written about me has its fulfillment" — is His own summary of a ministry that men refused. One writer traces how they refused it.
Messiah is cut off, and has nothing. Men disown His authority, though demons acknowledge it. They dispute His rights and take His life. At first they said, "We have no king but Caesar"; and later on, "Not this Man, but Barabbas." They accept a murderer, and crucify the Son of God. Having come in flesh and blood, and set before men who were responsible to receive Him, He has to say, "The things concerning Me have an end."
- Written. Christ points to a sentence already in Scripture and says it must be fulfilled in Him. God used wicked enemies to bring it about, and they stayed fully responsible for what they did.
- Reckoned. The word behind "transgressors" means lawless. It describes people who ignore all law and do their own will. That is a wider charge than breaking one code.
- Refused. The protection around Him and His disciples fell away. His path turned from the active use of power in love to patient suffering of God's will. His hour had come.
- Deeper. Being counted among the lawless describes how men treated Him, and His followers can share that. Far more than that, He was to bear divine judgment for sinners.
- Finished. Men crucified Him between two robbers to shame Him. There He became the divider between the lost and the saved. The things concerning Him, presented to man, had reached their end.
And they said, Lord, behold here are two swords. And he said to them, It is enough.
The disciples had just heard their Master speak of purses, bags and swords. They answered by holding up two swords. His reply ends the talk instead of approving their idea. So what did the sword mean, and why were two of them "enough"?
The simplest test of the disciples' reading is to count.
That very answer shows He did not mean it literally. Two swords would be a very poor supply for eleven disciples. That is quite clear. If it had been eleven swords, one could understand. But the Lord said that two swords are enough, and that shows at once how mistaken it was to take His words in the bare literal sense. Those who did take them literally made very bad use of them a little while later, and Peter is the very man.
If the words are not a count of weapons, they are a full stop. Commentators read them as the Lord breaking off a subject the disciples could not yet grasp.
The disciples, however, missed the force of the Lord's words. They thought only of their weapons of the flesh. They were quick to show two swords, and that showed a zeal of the flesh, ready to fight. His own faith was firm and settled. He met all hatred with His Word, and used no weapons of the flesh. He simply said, "It is enough," certainly not enough swords, but enough discussion. He would say no more since they did not understand. They had to learn by sad experience.
The Lord had provided for them up to now. His arrest and death would take that shelter away, and the sword marks the change.
The way the disciples were kept then, and the saints now, is quite different. Then they were kept for earth; now for heaven. Here He provided for them by His own right and power, though He did not do so for Himself. But now they would be left to the difficulties and trials of a world where Satan governed and the Lord was absent. Satan would stir up opposition and turn hearts against them. They would learn in the world, as regards men, as we say, to shift for themselves. They were left facing Satan, with the Lord absent in heaven, to share the suffering caused by the power that He Himself came under.
If the sword pictures a change of circumstances, a danger follows. Does the disciple now defend himself by force? Kelly answers by pointing back to the ground the apostles were first sent out on.
The Lord had used the sword, purse and bag as pictures of the ordinary means the disciples would now be thrown on. He certainly did not mean that they should give up, for themselves, the ground of grace in the presence of evil, even under the worst insult and injury. He had insisted on that ground when He first called and commissioned them as apostles. He says no more. The true sense waits for the day when the Holy Spirit would be given, and would lead them into all the truth.
Within hours Peter drew one of those two swords, and the Lord corrected him in the garden.
Was not the Lord's meaning plain when He said, "It is enough"? If our warfare were with flesh and blood, would two swords be enough? No, the weapons of our warfare are not carnal. He did not mean a real sword to resist the world. He meant a hint that the world would draw its sword against them. It was a warning from the Lord that they would have to meet the world's fiercest hatred. Peter failed to see it, and in the garden used the sword he had boasted of against the high priest's servant. The Lord then spoke more plainly, "Put your sword back into its place," and at once healed the servant's ear.
The soldier's vocabulary reappears in Paul's letters, applied to a different battlefield.
The fact is, they did not understand then the spiritual significance of His words. But Paul understood them later. He described the Christian life in the language of the battlefield, not in the language of the drawing room or the easy couch. Mark well how he speaks of "the good fight," and of "sharing in suffering as a good soldier." He speaks too of "wrestling not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness."
- Count — Two swords for eleven men settle the question. Real blades would have been a poor supply, so He was not arming them.
- Close — "It is enough" ends the conversation, not the count of weapons. He would say no more where they could not follow.
- Change — The purse, bag and sword picture a new situation. With their Master gone, they must live on ordinary means in a hostile world.
- Caution — The change never cancels the ground of grace. The disciple still meets insult and injury without weapons of the flesh.
- Clarity — Peter drew the sword, and the Lord corrected him. The true sense waited for the Spirit, and Paul later fought the fight it truly meant.
And going forth he went according to his custom to the mount of Olives, and the disciples also followed him.
This verse opens Luke's account of Gethsemane, where Jesus goes out to a hillside He often visited and His disciples follow. Luke's note that this was His custom matters: the place of quiet prayer became the place of arrest.
Luke names the Mount of Olives. On its slope lay the garden called Gethsemane. One reference work sums up what happened there and what its name means:
This is the name of the garden on part of the Mount of Olives where the Lord often went with His disciples. He spent part of the night here after the last Passover. Here He was in intense agony as He faced drinking the cup of wrath due to sin. How significant is the name, which means "wine-press"! Angels came and ministered to Him. Here too Judas betrayed Him with a kiss, and He was arrested.
Walking out of Jerusalem that night was more than a change of location. One writer explains the move with a picture from the prophet Zechariah:
He then goes out with His apostles to the Mount of Olives. In the language of the prophet Zechariah, He takes His staff "Beauty" and cuts it in two. That is, He withdraws Himself from Israel. He is, whether they know it or not, their beauty, their glory, their perfection.
The habit had a dark side. Judas — the disciple who handed Jesus over — did not have to search for Him:
The wickedness of Judas is as strongly marked here as in John 13. He knew the place well, for Jesus was in the habit of going there with His disciples. What a thought — to choose such a place for His betrayal! What unimaginable hardness of heart!
The route was familiar; the hour was not. One writer sets this garden beside the earlier temptation in the wilderness:
This was no ordinary occasion, even for Him. It was the terrible moment when the enemy came back. He had left Jesus for a while after his earlier defeat in the wilderness. But this garden was to see an equally decisive defeat of the enemy, as suited the Second man, the Lord from heaven. It was no longer Satan trying to draw Him out of the path of obedience by what is desirable in the world. He now sought, if he could not drag Jesus out of obedience, to fill Him with alarm and kill Him in it. But Jesus shrank from no suffering and weighed before God all that lay ahead. He watched and prayed and suffered, being tempted. The disciples failed to pray and entered into temptation, so that nothing but grace delivered them.
Luke records the Lord praying again and again. One writer counts seven such moments in this Gospel:
He, who was Lord of all and knew all, "continued in prayer to God" all night before He chooses His companions and appoints His apostles. What a lesson to us all of dependence on God. This is recorded only by Luke, who gives us the pathway of the perfectly dependent man. So it is no surprise — and it teaches us much — to find the Lord bowed in prayer seven times in that Gospel (Luke 3:21; Luke 5:16; Luke 6:12; Luke 9:18-29; Luke 11:1; Luke 22:41).
This scene belongs to that pattern, and the way He prayed matters:
Here again we see the great evidence of the Lord's complete dependence as the perfect Man. The perfection of a man lies in the absolute dependence that marks him as such… I am sure there is a reason why Scripture records that He "knelt down and prayed."
They followed Him with no idea what the night held. His concern was for them, not for Himself:
The disciples followed Him quite unprepared for what was about to take place. The Lord had to urge them to pray that they would not enter into temptation. What wonderful love! He knew what lay ahead of Him. Yet He thought not of Himself and His sufferings, but of His own and how they could rise above temptation.
- Custom — the Lord often went to this hillside garden with His disciples. Its name, "wine-press", fits what happened there.
- Cost — leaving the city was itself a parting. In Zechariah's picture He cuts the staff called "Beauty" and withdraws Himself from Israel.
- Cover — the habit gave Judas his chance. He knew the place, because Jesus went there so often.
- Conflict — the familiar spot became the place where the enemy returned. There he met a decisive defeat from the One who shrank from no suffering.
- Communion — He kneels and prays as the perfectly dependent Man. His first concern is that His disciples pray too.
And when he was at the place he said to them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation.
On His last night, Jesus went out to the Mount of Olives, as He often did. At the place, He gave His disciples one command, then withdrew to pray alone. Why pray about temptation rather than about sin? And what does it mean to "enter into" a temptation instead of just meeting one?
The garden was familiar ground, and the words He spoke there were not new to them either:
They arrived at Gethsemane — that is, the oil-press. The Lord had often gone to that spot, a fact Luke confirms in the words "as His custom was." He was fully conscious of all that was before Him, and of the power of the enemy He was to meet and perfectly resist. He said to His disciples, as a warning for them, "Pray that you may not enter into temptation." He had taught them that petition in the Lord's prayer. He repeated it here. For which of them could withstand the powerful assaults of the devil for a single moment?
With the cross an hour away, His thought was for them:
What wonderful love! The One who knew what lay ahead of Him did not think of Himself and His sufferings. He thought of His own people, and of how they could rise above temptation.
The exact wording matters. He did not tell them to pray against sin. He told them to pray against entering the test.
In Gethsemane, notice that the Lord says, Watch and pray that you do not enter — not into sin, but into temptation. Christ was perfect all through, but Peter fell to cursing and swearing, and denied his Lord.
A prayer worded the other way would be unthinkable, because it would make God the source of the evil:
No such prayer is or could be in the Bible as, Lead us not into sin; for this would be to charge God with moral evil. Temptation here means putting a person fully to the test. If there is unjudged evil in the heart, it will come out, to his shame.
Being tested is not the disaster. The difference turns on when a person prays.
It is blessed to fall into temptation, but it is never blessed to enter into temptation. Entering into temptation and enduring temptation are two completely different things… The man who endures temptation is the one who prays before the temptation comes. He does not enter into it. When it comes he is blessed; he endures. Peter did not. Peter entered.
Elsewhere the same writer traces entering back to the will:
The will goes into a scene where no one is kept safe — no one except the person whose own will is judged, who goes at God's bidding and leans on Him. So the will goes in where failure is certain, just because it is will at work.
The prayer does not ask God to cancel the trial. It asks that the trial, when it comes, leads to obedience.
Pressed in spirit by what was coming, He urges His disciples to pray that they do not enter into temptation. That is, when the time came for them to be put to the test, walking with God, the test would be obedience to God for them, and not a means of turning away from Him. There are such moments, if God allows them to come, when the enemy's power puts everything to the proof.
He told them to pray; then He moved away to pray Himself. That gap is deliberate.
The Lord is never recorded as praying with His disciples. He taught them to pray. He prayed about them, prayed for them, not with them. For His own position was unique. Our prayers rest on what Christ is for us. He could draw near to God, qualified by His own person and dignity; we can only come in His name.
They did not pray. The result came fast.
Judas was away from them, and he betrayed Him. All the rest deserted Him too. Even the most prominent of the three chosen to be nearest the Lord denied Him with oaths — three times, before the rooster crowed. They entered into temptation and utterly failed. We can only be kept by watching and prayer. Evil is not judged rightly except in the presence of God. There His light exposes it and His grace is enough, even for us.
- Warned. Facing the cross, He thought of them first. He repeated a petition He had already taught them. Not one of them could stand a moment against the enemy alone.
- Worded. He did not say "pray that you not sin." They were to pray against the test itself. A prayer not to be led into sin would charge God with evil.
- Weighed. Enduring temptation is blessed; entering it is ruin. The difference is the will — and the prayer that comes before the trial, not after.
- Withdrawn. He told them to pray, then prayed apart. He drew near to God by His own dignity; we come only in His name.
- Wasted. They did not pray, they entered, and they failed — betrayal, desertion, denial. Only watching and prayer keep anyone standing.
And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's throw, and having knelt down he prayed,
Gethsemane opens with a separation: Jesus tells the disciples to pray, moves a short measured distance from them, and kneels. Both details — the distance and the posture — say something about who He is and what He was about to face.
Matthew says Jesus went a little farther. Older translations of Luke read "he was withdrawn," where the ESV reads "he withdrew." One writer ties that difference to how each Gospel presents Him.
He must leave them also; He must go "a little farther," and go alone — or, as we read in Luke, He must be "withdrawn from them about a stone's throw." In Matthew He is King, and David's royal Son has the right to act on His own; so there He went "a little farther." There it is His own act. In Luke He is the obedient and dependent Man, filled and anointed by the Spirit to do the Father's business. He was fully subject to the leading of the Spirit. So there He is, "withdrawn from them about a stone's throw," withdrawn by the Spirit and by the Father's will.
Luke gives a distance any reader can picture — the throw of a stone. The same writer notes how misleading that small measurement is.
His disciples could not travel with Him now. Only a stone's throw separated Him from them, but in reality the distance could not be measured. The road was one that no other human foot had ever walked, or ever could walk. They would never be joined with Him again in the old way. That chapter was now closed for ever. The links were broken, and He felt it deeply.
Luke records the posture: He knelt. One commentator reads it as part of what this Gospel shows all through about Jesus.
Here again we have the great evidence of the Lord's entire dependence as the perfect Man. A man's perfection lies in the absolute dependence that marks him as a man... What marks Gethsemane, the scene of His agony, above all is this. He went through it all in spirit with His Father. He carried in His heart, and passed through in His soul, all the shadows of the cross that fell across His blessed path here. And He did it in perfect, absolute dependence. And I do not believe it is recorded without reason that He "knelt down and prayed."
Some have turned that posture into a required rule. One writer answers that claim directly.
We find our Lord kneeling in prayer (Luke 22:41). We find the apostle Paul kneeling with the elders of Ephesus (Acts 20:36). It is in every way a fitting posture. But when people speak of it as "an imperative duty," we regard that as a claim with no warrant... let people kneel, or sit, or stand, as they feel led. But let them not try to force their preferences or their postures on other people as "an imperative rule."
Luke has shown Jesus praying again and again without telling us the words. Here that changes, and what breaks the silence is the cup.
He knelt down and prayed, "Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me. Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done" (Luke 22:42). Often in this Gospel we have read of the Lord in prayer, but never before has Luke recorded what He said. Now he does. To drink that cup — the cup of death with the judgment of God connected with it — was no light thing for the Holy Sinless One. In obedience to His Father He would drink it.
The conflict in the garden only grows heavier from here. One writer traces what deepens along with it.
The Lord's dependence as man is then displayed in the most striking manner. The whole scene of Gethsemane and the cross, in Luke, is the perfect dependent man. He prays: He submits to His Father's will. An angel strengthens Him... Afterwards, in deep conflict, He prays more earnestly: a dependent man, perfect in His dependence. The deeper the conflict, the deeper His communion with His Father. The disciples were overwhelmed by no more than the shadow of what made Jesus pray. They take refuge in the forgetfulness of sleep.
- Withdrawn. In Matthew He goes; in Luke's older wording He is withdrawn — moved by the Spirit and the Father's will, the obedient and dependent Man.
- Distance. A stone's throw was the visible gap; the real one was immeasurable, on a road no other human foot had walked or could walk.
- Kneeling. Luke records the posture for a reason: dependence shows in the body as well as the heart. Still, no writer here makes it a rule to force on others.
- The cup. Here Luke records His praying words for the first time. Their subject is the cup of death and judgment He would drink in obedience to His Father.
- Deepening. The heavier the conflict grew, the closer He drew to His Father. The disciples felt only its shadow, and slept.
saying, Father, if thou wilt remove this cup from me -- but then, not my will, but thine be done.
Luke sets this prayer a stone's throw from the sleeping disciples. Jesus kneels, asks His Father to take a cup away, then hands over His own will. Two questions follow. What was in that cup that made Him shrink from it? And what does it mean that the sinless One says "not my will"?
Jesus had already met hatred and cruelty from men, and He never asked to escape it. So why pray this way now?
In His life of obedience Jesus suffered the opposition of sinners. He never turned away from them, and He never asked that such a cup should be taken from Him. Why this, then? Because this was not merely the cup of the wickedness of men or of Satan's malice, but the cup of the wrath of God. In what He suffered before from men, He had the joy of doing His Father's will. But in this cup, the cup of wrath, there was not one drop of sweetness. Jesus prays that, if it is possible, this cup may pass far from Him. And why impossible? Here is the reason. God cannot bear with sin. And since Jesus Himself was made sin for us, God's wrath had to fall on sin.
The cup could not pass, and the reason has to do with us. Here is what would have happened if He had not drunk it.
He knew that if He did not drink that cup of judgment on the cross, you and I would have to drink it in eternity. If He did not drink the cup in our place, there was no deliverance, no pardon, no cleansing possible for you and me. As He looked at that cup He shrank from it in all the perfect holiness of His being. He pleaded against it with everything in Him. Then He took it, and drank it to the very dregs in the perfection of His love.
The name He uses here is worth weighing against the cry He would raise hours later on the cross.
Notice that our Lord says, "Father"; on the cross, "My God" (Matt. 27:46; compare Ps. 40:8).
Luke's Gethsemane shows a Man who leans wholly on His Father, right down to the angel who comes to strengthen Him.
The Lord's dependence as man is then displayed in the most striking way. The whole scene of Gethsemane and the cross, in Luke, is the perfect dependent man. He prays; He submits to His Father's will. An angel strengthens Him: this was their service to the Son of man. Afterwards, in deep conflict, He prays more earnestly. As dependent man, He is perfect in His dependence. The deepness of the conflict deepens His conversation with His Father.
Some read these words as Jesus fighting to bring His own will into line with God's. One writer answers that, for a reason that touches who He is.
To say He had to fight to bring His own will into line with the will of God suggests a struggle to do so. For His will not to have been at all times one with His Father's would have been sin. In such a statement, then, we have lost a perfect Saviour, and a Saviour who is not perfect is no Saviour at all. True, He said, "not my will, but yours, be done" (Luke 22:42). But that showed no struggle. It showed submission to His Father's will.
Another garden stands behind this one, and the outcomes run in opposite directions.
Will, which in us is sin, becomes obedience when He offers up Himself. He was perfect in all His ways, in all His life, in giving Himself wholly to God; and this perfect thing itself He offered up to God in perfect obedience — "not my will, but yours, be done." There was the perfection of glorifying God in it. In the first Adam, who sought himself, the purpose of self-will brought in death. In the second, the Lord Jesus Christ, the will to glorify God brought in life to us through death.
The cup stayed. That does not mean the Father turned a deaf ear — the answer came in a different form.
Then came the great moment in the garden of Gethsemane. He came face to face with the sorrows of death, and His cries were heard. He was heard "in that He feared," or, "for His piety." His personal perfections as Man required that He be heard. His cry was that He should be saved out of death. The force of the word here is "out of," not "from." He was not saved from death. He was heard and saved out of it by resurrection.
- The cup — not human cruelty, which He never asked to escape, but the wrath of God against sin, with no drop of sweetness in it.
- The impossibility — the cup could not pass, because God cannot let sin go unjudged, and He was the One made sin for us.
- The exchange — He drank it so we never have to. On no other terms is there pardon or cleansing.
- The will — no inner battle, but a will already one with the Father's. The first man's self-will brought in death. His obedience brought in life.
- The answer — heard, though not spared: saved not from death but out of it, by resurrection.
And an angel appeared to him from heaven strengthening him.
The angel comes in the middle of Gethsemane, while the Lord prays and His sweat falls like blood. Two questions follow: what can a creature give the Son of God, and why did heaven send help instead of rescue?
Matthew was in the garden. Mark likely heard the story from Peter. Neither of them mentions the angel. One writer takes that silence as deliberate, since each Gospel draws its own portrait of the Lord.
Neither Matthew, who was there, nor Mark, who may have heard much from Peter, mentions two things: the bloody sweat, and the angel from heaven who strengthened Him. Probably all eleven disciples knew the angel was there, and surely the three nearest Him did. Yet neither Matthew nor John hints at it. Was that by accident or by design? By design, we believe, since each Gospel writer presents the Lord in a character that belongs to his own Gospel. So Luke, who introduces Him as the Son of Man, records the appearance of the angel to strengthen Him — and it is fitting that he should.
One writer meets the strangeness of the scene head on.
Luke tells us of an angel who strengthened Him. How could an angel strengthen Him, who is the Creator of the angels? He certainly could not strengthen His holy soul. That an angel strengthened Him must belong to His deep humiliation.
The kind of help matters as much as the fact of it.
Only Luke mentions an angel from heaven strengthening Him. His distress was so intense that it weakened His body, and this is noted in particular in the Gospel that deals with His true manhood. The angel gave physical strength, not spiritual. Even in believers, it is the Spirit of God Himself who gives spiritual strength (Ephesians 3:16). His deep agony made His prayer more earnest, and it struck His body too: His sweat became like great drops of blood, falling to the ground. How truly and fully He is Man, with all the weakness that dependence brings — yet completely apart from sin, and always doing the Father's will.
One writer asks how far that strengthening went.
How do you interpret that word "strengthening"? It was not the same thing as "strengthen your brothers." It did not go beyond His body. That is the work of angels. They are the messengers who carry out God's providence. The Holy Spirit deals with your spirit. So I take it they were giving some supporting strength to His body. It is a proof that He was not yet forsaken. We find nothing of that in the three hours of darkness. He was left in deep unfathomable loneliness. Not a ray of light from the face of God gladdened Him there. But He had not yet been made an offering for sin, and angels can come and strengthen Him. He is strengthened for a fresh agony.
One writer asks what actually took place in that conflict, and what God sent in reply.
Gethsemane clearly marked out the scene of that conflict. What took place there? He rightly shrank from undergoing the judgment of God against sin. "And He was heard because of His reverence." He was heard because death, the wages of sin, had no claim on Him. God granted His claim to deliverance. Instead of sending His judgment to wither His flesh, God sent an angel to strengthen Him.
This help fits the picture Luke draws throughout: a Man who lives in dependence on His Father.
The Lord's dependence as man then appears in the most striking way. In Luke, the whole scene of Gethsemane and the cross shows the perfect dependent Man. He prays: He submits to His Father's will. An angel strengthens Him: this was their service to the Son of Man. Afterwards, in deep conflict, He prays more earnestly: dependent Man, He is perfect in His dependence. The deepness of the conflict deepens His fellowship with His Father.
- Cause. Real anguish brought real bodily weakness. That is why strength was needed, and why Luke, who presents Him as Son of Man, is the one who tells us.
- Gift. Heaven did not take the cup away. It sent an angel to support the Man who would drink it — help sent, not judgment.
- Limit. The help reached His body, not His soul. Spiritual strength comes from the Spirit of God, not from angels.
- Proof. Because an angel could still come near, the garden was not yet the forsaking. In the three hours of darkness no such comfort appears.
- Pattern. Under greater pressure His prayer grew more earnest, not less. Dependence deepened where it was tested most.
And being in conflict he prayed more intently. And his sweat became as great drops of blood, falling down upon the earth.
Shortly before His arrest, Jesus prays in a garden, and Luke alone shows what that prayer cost Him. The scene raises hard questions: what was in the cup He shrank from, and why did the agony make Him pray more, not less?
In Luke, Gethsemane shows a man leaning wholly on God.
The Lord's dependence as man is then displayed in the most striking manner. The whole scene of Gethsemane and the cross, in Luke, is the perfect dependent man. He prays; He submits to His Father's will. An angel strengthens Him — this was their service to the Son of Man. Afterwards, in deep conflict, He prays more earnestly: dependent man, He is perfect in His dependence. The deeper the conflict, the deeper His fellowship with His Father.
The same writer points out what is missing later, at the cross.
When we come to the cross in this Gospel, we find no trace of the agony. He had gone through it in spirit in Gethsemane, and is then above it all.
The agony had a cause outside Himself. An enemy was setting death before His soul.
Here, then, in Gethsemane, we see Satan presenting death in all its horrors. He seeks to bring that in between Christ and all His perfection as Man before God. On God He leaned in perfect dependence as a Man. That is what the agony in the garden is. It is hardly a subject to discuss, but rather one to think about on your knees before God.
Some read the little word "like" to mean His sweat only looked like blood. One writer answers from Luke's own use of that word elsewhere.
I agree that the Greek word here for "like" does not mean a mere appearance without reality. Weigh the same word in Luke's account of Saul's conversion and baptism (Acts 9). He means that something with the appearance of scales fell from Saul's eyes. He raises no question of whether they were real, for indeed they were really there. So here. Further, as Bengel remarked, the force of that word "like" falls on the clots rather than on the blood. So there is even less reason to disturb the common belief.
Here the cup was still before Him. Another writer draws a sharp line between the garden and the cross.
Was propitiation accomplished by all this? No, my friends. Propitiation means meeting the righteous claims of God, glorifying Him about sin, making atonement for it. It was not accomplished by the living agonies of Jesus, nor by the sorrows He tasted, nor by the tears He shed... Gethsemane was not Golgotha. In Gethsemane He looked at and measured everything. In the garden He took the cup, if I may say so, and looked at its ingredients; on the cross He drank its contents... In that cup, not one single element of sorrow was missing that either the hand of man or the hand of God could supply.
The verse ties the agony to the praying. That link is where it reaches us.
The more He felt the depths of that dreadful cup which He was to drink, the more earnestly He prayed. With us, too often, the trouble that fills our minds turns us away from God. But "He prayed more earnestly." The agony brought Him to God, and that is just the right thing... The poor disciples were sleeping for sorrow while He was praying more earnestly, in agony.
Measured against Him, our own praying often runs at the opposite temperature.
Christ was in an agony at prayer (Luke 22:44). Many, when they pray, are in a lethargy rather than an agony. When they are busy about the world, they are all fire; when they are at prayer, they are all ice.
He leaves the garden calm. One commentator traces that calm to what happened while He prayed.
So, the more pressed by Satan, the nearer to God He is. Therefore it is said, "being in agony, he prayed more earnestly." As a result, He receives nothing at the hand of Satan, but from His Father. "The cup that my Father has given me, shall I not drink it?" Before He left Gethsemane, the whole power of Satan was morally destroyed. He had gone through the hour with His Father, and now takes the cup from His Father's hand, as an act of obedience. He is now as calm as when doing any other miracle.
- Conflict. The agony was a real struggle. Death and Satan's power pressed on the soul of a man who leaned on God alone.
- Anticipation. He measured the cup here; He drank it on the cross. Gethsemane weighed the ingredients, Golgotha emptied them.
- Reality. The word "like" does not soften the fact. The clots of blood were there, as real as the scales that fell from Saul's eyes.
- Response. Pressure did not drive Him from God. It drove Him into deeper prayer. Sorrow put the disciples to sleep and put Him on His knees.
- Result. He left the garden calm and took the cup from His Father's hand. What He settled with God in prayer, He could then face.
And rising up from his prayer, coming to the disciples, he found them sleeping from grief.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And he said to them, Why sleep ye? rise up and pray that ye enter not into temptation.
In the garden of Gethsemane, one Man kneels in prayer while His friends lie asleep close by. The Lord's question and command press on us the same choice — what will sorrow drive us to, sleep or prayer?
One night held three different responses to the same crisis. Luke sets them side by side.
The more He felt the depths of that dreadful cup which He was to drink, the more earnestly He prayed. With us, too often, the trouble that fills our minds turns us away from God. But "He prayed more earnestly." The agony brought Him to God, and that is just the right thing... In the disciples you have man in his weakness. In Judas you have man in his hatred and wickedness. In Christ you have man in his perfection.
Why would the perfect Man need to pray at all?
Here again we have the great evidence of the Lord's complete dependence as the perfect Man. The perfection of a man lies in the total dependence that marks him out as man.
Luke says plainly why they slept — grief. But the commentators refuse to let that excuse stand.
This was not the sorrow of grace: this was really selfish sorrow. They were sorrowing at what they were going to lose; at all this distress that was coming on. It was not the true sorrow of grace. That sorrow feels how serious the moment is, and takes warning from the words of our Lord Jesus Christ.
This was not the first time these men slept through something enormous.
They had slept in the presence of His glory (Lk. 9:32), and now also in the presence of His agony. How sadly we resemble them! We too might take to heart His serious warning to rise and pray, so that we do not enter into temptation instead of resisting it.
The phrase is easy to skim past. Scripture elsewhere calls a tested believer blessed, so the wording needs care. The phrases in quotation marks below follow an older translation.
There is a vast difference between "falling into temptation," or "enduring temptation" (James 1:2, 12), and "entering into temptation" (Matt. 26:41)... Nothing strengthens us more than to "endure temptation." Nothing is more dangerous than to "enter into" it. The words seem almost the same, and people can easily miss the difference in their thinking. But the difference is total. In the one case it is an honour that God puts on us. In the other it is a trap that Satan sets before us.
The test was coming that night. What the Lord told them to pray about was what it would become in them.
Weighed down in spirit by what was coming, He urges His disciples to pray that they do not enter into temptation. That is to say: when the time came for the test, they would be walking with God. Then the test would mean obedience to God for them, and not a way of departing from Him.
Notice the timing in the Lord's command. Prayer comes before the test, not after it.
Now the man that endures temptation is the man that prays before the temptation comes. He does not enter into it. When it comes he is blest; he endures. Peter did not. Peter entered... But if the Lord tells me that temptation is near, and I do not pray, it is clear that I am not depending upon God... Enduring temptation is when a person suffers, and suffers because he does not give in. Entering into temptation is when he does give in, because he does not pray.
The rest of the chapter reads as the outcome of this one refused command.
We will soon see the result of their sleeping instead of praying. Judas was away, and he betrayed Him. But all the rest abandoned Him too. Even the most prominent of the three chosen to be nearest the Lord denied Him with oaths... Only watching and prayer can keep us. Evil is only judged rightly in the presence of God. There His light exposes it, and His grace is enough, even for us. But man has no strength against Satan... Leaning upon Him, the weakest of saints is more than conqueror.
- Sleep — grief was real, but it was sorrow over their own loss, not the sorrow of grace. It sent them to sleep instead of to prayer.
- Twice — they had already slept through His glory on the mountain; now they sleep through His agony. The same weakness meets both extremes.
- Rise — the command comes before the test arrives. The one who endures temptation is the one who prayed ahead of it.
- Enter — a test is an honour God puts on us; entering temptation is a trap. Prayer keeps the test from becoming a departure from God.
- Kept — sleeping ended in a drawn sword, flight, and denial. Only in God's presence do we judge evil rightly, and there the weakest believer is more than conqueror.
As he was yet speaking, behold, a crowd, and he that was called Judas, one of the twelve, went on before them, and drew near to Jesus to kiss him.
Jesus is still speaking to His disciples when the crowd arrives to arrest Him, led by one of His own twelve. Why did it take such a great crowd to arrest one lowly Man, and why did the sign have to be a kiss?
The size of the party says more about the fear of Jesus' enemies than about any danger from Him:
Gentiles and Jews come to lay their hands on the Prince of Life, the Lord of Glory, ready to commit the greatest sin. All the sinfulness of sin is now to be shown. But why such a great multitude and such precaution to capture one man, who was "gentle and lowly in heart"? What a testimony after all to His power, which they feared — and yet what blindness.
Judas walked in front of the crowd rather than among it. One writer reads that as part of a plan laid in advance:
From the Gospel of Luke we learn that he was not only the leader of the great crowd but he walked ahead of them. What a subtle plan he had laid! In it you see the cunning of that same Serpent from the garden where the first Adam was placed. How cunning, and yet how blunt. Everything had been arranged so as to make His escape impossible. The traitor was to kiss Him. The kiss would point the Lord out and at the same time separate Him from the disciples. Then they were to press upon Him at once and capture Him. It was all carefully planned. By his action and his plan Judas shows that he did not believe in the Lord as the Son of God. He knew His power.
Luke does not simply name Judas. He places him among the twelve — the men Jesus chose to be with Him. That nearness proved something terrible:
One of that company chosen to be with Jesus here below was to prove this awful truth. A man may stand very near to blessing on the outside. But if he does not receive it into his heart, he is only further from it morally. There was only one Judas in Israel, and he was nearest to Jesus. Only one man joined all the privileges of such companionship with Jesus to all the guilt of betraying Him.
Of every signal Judas could have used, he picked the gesture of friendship. The Lord saw through it, and still did not shut the door:
The treachery of Judas would still like to hide itself in the kiss that identifies Him. He gives that kiss with emphasis, as if to assure the One he is betraying that he is not part of the crowd that follows him. The Lord sees through this disguise. He answers not with a rebuke but with a question: "Friend, why are you here?" Then, as Luke tells us, He adds the more direct one: "Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?" Divine love has still not stopped pleading. It has not closed the door against his return even now.
Judas could lead the crowd straight to the spot, because he knew where his Master usually went:
How gracious, but how terrible, are the words of Jesus here! He spoke them to a man who knew his Master, and his Master's usual places, well enough to hand Him over to His enemies like this.
With the disguise gone, Judas now belongs to neither side:
The Lord's words to him (v.48) were faithful, yet with no bitterness or anger. They showed him that the Lord had seen through his treachery. What could he do now? Where could he go? For he had proved to friends and enemies alike that he could not be trusted. Terrible exposure!
No one could have seized Jesus earlier. What changed was not the strength of His enemies but the arrival of His hour:
As to what went before, they could not touch Him until that hour had come. He must be a willing captive, as He was a willing victim… Now He puts Himself into their hands. He was a willing captive now, as He was a willing victim on the cross. They took Him!
- Nearness — Judas stood as close to Jesus as any man could. He never took that blessing into his heart, so his nearness only measured how far his soul really was.
- Disguise — He led the crowd from the front and chose a kiss as his sign, arranging both to hide the very thing he was doing.
- Word — The Lord answered with a question, not with force. It was faithful and free of anger. It tore off the disguise and still left room for return.
- Exposure — Judas had betrayed his Master. Friends and enemies alike now knew he could not be trusted, and he had nowhere left to go.
- Surrender — No one could lay a hand on Him until His hour came. They took Him because He gave Himself up — a willing captive before He was a willing victim.
And Jesus said to him, Judas, deliverest thou up the Son of man with a kiss?
Judas had walked with Jesus for three years. Now he steps out of an armed crowd and marks out his Master with a kiss, and the Lord's answer names him, the deed, and Himself.
Jesus had warned Judas more than once before this moment.
"Hail, Rabbi!" had been his greeting. "Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?" were the Lord's last words spoken directly to him. The Lord had openly announced in the upper room that He was about to be betrayed. He had told Judas to his face that he was the traitor. He had spoken to that wretched man as he left the upper room in words he could not have misunderstood. Now He let him know that He was not deceived by that hypocritical show of affection.
The word for the kiss changes as Judas carries out his plan. The Psalms show how keenly the Lord felt this act from a close friend.
The word for "kissed Him" is changed from the word Judas used when he gave them this sign. Then he had used the word phileo, I love, or I kiss. But he was eager to make sure they seized the One he had once followed. So he "covered Him with kisses": kata-phileo, a much stronger word. It is hard to imagine anything more horrible than the way Judas betrayed his Master. And we know from the Psalms how keenly our Lord felt it. See, for example, Psalm 41:9: "Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me."
Jesus could have rebuked him. Instead He asked a question that left the door open.
Judas would still like to hide his treachery in the kiss that pointed out the Lord. He gave it with emphasis, as if to tell the One he is betraying that he is not part of the crowd following him. The Lord sees through this disguise. He answers not with a rebuke but with a question: "Friend, why are you here?" Then, as Luke tells us, He adds the more direct one: "Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?" Divine love has not stopped pleading, even yet. It has not closed the door against his return.
(The first question is Matthew 26:50; the ESV reads "Friend, do what you came to do," while the older wording quoted here puts it as a question.)
The same writer, commenting elsewhere, weighs the insult itself:
Of all the signs Judas could have chosen, this was surely the most brazen: smooth-faced hypocrisy. And the Lord shows how deeply He felt the insult.
Judas knew his Master, and he knew the places his Master used. That knowledge is what he sold.
How gracious, but how terrible were these words of Jesus! He spoke them to a man who knew his Master and his Master's usual places well enough to hand Him over like this to His enemies.
No one arrives here in one step. One writer follows the path from its start, and it begins with something ordinary.
Trace the course of Judas: what led him astray? He loved money — not an uncommon evil… Then, what is his next step? Satan puts it into his heart to betray his Master… Sin makes progress in a conscience that is already defiled. Hypocrisy now enters; he sits with Jesus at the table, carrying on with religion, even after he had sold Him. Note too that it was "after the sop" that Satan entered — he was never nearer to Christ in outward form. Now he is hardened against even natural feeling, and goes out and betrays the Son of Man with a kiss… Sinning and religion go on together. Where the power of godliness is missing, being near to godly things only makes the danger greater.
Everyone in the garden lost their footing except the One they came to arrest.
With verse 47 the last scenes begin. Now everything is calm and gracious with the Lord. Everything is confused and agitated with His friends, His enemies, and even His judges. The communion in the garden led to the calmness in the great hour of trial. Judas reached the summit of hypocrisy in betraying his Master with a kiss… It was their hour, and the hour in which the power of darkness was to be displayed. Against that dark background the Lord displayed His grace.
- Known. The kiss hid nothing; the Lord let Judas see that the show of affection had not deceived Him.
- Named. He addressed the traitor personally — "Judas" — and these were the last words Jesus ever spoke to him on earth.
- Asked. He met treachery with a question, not a rebuke. That question left the door open, even while He felt the insult in full.
- Traced. The betrayal grew step by step: love of money, then a way to feed it, then religion kept up as cover, then a hardened heart. Nearness to holy things without real godliness only makes the danger greater.
- Answered. He answered the whole scene with grace. Everyone around Him was shaken; He alone stayed calm in the hour of darkness.
And they who were around him, seeing what was going to follow, said [to him], Lord, shall we smite with [the] sword?
Judas has given his kiss in the garden, and the men around Jesus see what is coming. They ask whether to fight — but where did the swords come from, and why did they strike before He answered?
Earlier that evening the Lord had spoken about a sword, and the disciples produced two. One writer traces their question straight back to that misreading:
Was not the Lord's meaning plain when He said, "It is enough"? If our warfare were with flesh and blood, would two swords be enough? No — the weapons of our warfare are not weapons of the flesh. He did not mean a material sword to resist the world. He was hinting that the world would draw its sword against them, a warning from the Lord that they would have to meet the world's fiercest hatred. Peter failed to see it, and in the garden he used the sword he had boasted about against the high priest's servant.
They put the question to Christ, yet the blow lands before He speaks. One writer turns that gap into a warning about our own praying:
But the disciples were panic stricken. What could they do? They asked the Lord whether they should use their material weapons for defence. But one of them (Peter) didn't wait for an answer. We too may sometimes pray, then excitedly act without an answer from the Lord.
Peter drew the sword for Jesus. That is what makes it wrong — it treats Him as someone who needs rescuing:
But he has belittled and misrepresented the One he wanted to serve. He must have fallen very low indeed if He needed His disciple's sword to get Him out of such hands as these. If He yields, it is to God, not to man; He yields — to take the cup from the Father's hand. And what should the sword do here? Were not heaven's legions waiting on His will?
The impulse behind the question was genuine affection. Weighed before God, it was still something else:
Peter was self-satisfied and self-confident. He also had a powerful energy of personal love for his Master, and it worked from mixed motives and an unhumbled heart. That is what led him to use the sword and cut off the ear of the high priest's servant. Weighed in God's presence, it was flesh and worldliness. Many of the best among us today have the same thing to confess: zeal without knowledge. The zeal aimed at the right object. But much in us as its defenders was wrong, and so were many of the means and courses we took.
A few hours later that courage collapsed:
But the courage of Peter and the rest was courage of the flesh, and it soon failed them. They all abandoned Him and fled. The Son of God stands in complete contrast to everyone else, even the most distinguished. He, perfectly submissive under the Father's hand; they, hasty and violent.
The stroke had a consequence nobody in the garden foresaw:
They said to Him, "Lord, shall we strike with the sword?" Without waiting for His reply, one of them struck the servant of the high priest. It was Peter who did it. That very action exposed him… When he got into the high priest's hall, the wounded man's relative recognised the man who had used the sword. Possibly Peter thought he was being very devoted, that he was doing a fine thing. What we need is to get the word from the Lord.
What Jesus did next settles the question the disciples asked:
With a word of gentle rebuke to Peter, He stretched out His hand, touched the severed ear and healed it. Before His hardened captors bound those tender hands, their last act was to heal the leader of the men arresting Him… That business was blessing, not judgment. It was healing, not a sword.
The same writer applies it to us. The sword we draw is for ourselves:
How ready we are to draw the sword and slash away when we think someone has wronged us. And we draw it not in imagined defence of the Lord, as Peter did, but in our own defence. A bitter spirit of resentment and retaliation so often rises up in us. How many people we have wounded and harmed by it — people only the Lord's touch can heal.
- Misread. They carried swords because they took the Lord's earlier words literally. Their real warfare was never against flesh and blood.
- Impatient. They asked the right Person the right question. Then they struck before He answered — praying, then acting without a reply.
- Misplaced. Defending Christ with a sword treats Him as though He needed rescuing. Heaven's legions were waiting on His word.
- Exposed. The blow meant to prove Peter's devotion is what identified him in the courtyard. There his courage collapsed.
- Healed. Christ answered "shall we strike?" by touching the wound and mending it. That is the business of blessing, not the sword — the pattern for every wrong we suffer.
And a certain one from among them smote the bondman of the high priest and took off his right ear.
Jesus is arrested at night in Gethsemane, and a crowd comes for Him with weapons. One disciple answers with a sword — and the wound he leaves raises the question of what love should do when its Master is taken.
The disciples had just asked whether they should strike (v. 49). One of them settled the matter before the Lord could reply.
But the disciples were panic-stricken. What could they do? They asked the Lord whether they should use their weapons for defence. But one of them (Peter) didn't wait for an answer. We too may sometimes pray, then rush into action without an answer from the Lord. No doubt he aimed for the man's head, but only cut off his right ear. If the Lord had not been present, this act would likely have started a violent riot.
The man who swung the sword had slept through the hour of prayer. The order of his failures is the lesson.
Such is man — yes, the very best of men! He is self-confident when he ought to be self-distrusting. He sleeps when he ought to be watching. And, we may add, he fights when he ought to be submitting. How out of place a sword was in the company of the meek and lowly Sufferer! Peter was completely out of step with his Master's spirit.
One writer links the stroke to prayer left undone:
If Peter had watched and prayed instead of sleeping, it might have been different. When we fail to pray, we enter into temptation.
One writer weighs the disciple's sword against the Master's grace.
How slow we are to learn grace, or to grasp the unworldly, heavenly nature of Christianity! How slow to learn the differences God has made in the way He deals with people! The law and the sword agreed well together; but grace and the sword do not fit at all. Nature understands the first and is quick to act on it. But the Christian should seek to know the second, and act on that. The disciple acted in law and used the sword; the blessed Master acted in grace and healed the ear of Malchus. How bright the contrast!
The man Peter struck served the high priest, the nation's leading religious figure. One writer asks whose place that servant was filling.
Who was Malchus? He was the servant of the high priest. Is this not remarkable? Was the sound of his master's feet not behind him? It was, though at some distance. It would not have suited the high priest's dignified office to go out at night with that bloodthirsty crowd. They made their way with torches and weapons to dark Gethsemane. No, he stayed behind in his palace. But he sent Malchus to take his place, and Malchus suffered under the stroke of Peter's sword. If the high priest had gone himself, that blow would have fallen on him.
The Lord was not powerless in that moment. Commentators point to what He showed instead.
He could still work miraculously by the Holy Spirit. Indeed, we know from John 18 that He could and did cast them all to the ground by the power of His name. But here we see the witness of His grace to man, even at such a moment, rather than of His own personal majesty. He was about to be rejected and to suffer on the cross.
The one who received that grace had come out to arrest Him.
Elsewhere we read that the Lord touched the ear of the wounded servant and healed him. It was the last miracle of healing the Lord performed before He went to the cross, and the man He healed was an enemy. In the confusion of the hour, Peter's act passed unnoticed.
Peter's blow fell on a man's ear. One writer finds the lasting lesson there.
One case of surgery is left to speak of. It is striking: this one undoes Peter's rash act in cutting off a servant's ear. The act speaks of undue severity — cutting off people's ears instead of opening them. How often our Lord has to undo our poor, blundering use of the sword! A touch is enough here.
- Unwatched. The sword came out of a hand that had slept through the hour of prayer. When we fail to pray, we enter into temptation.
- Unasked. The disciples asked the Lord what to do, but the blow fell before His answer came.
- Unfitting. Loyalty was right; the weapon was wrong. Law and the sword went together; grace and the sword do not.
- Undone. The Lord's touch repaired what zeal had severed — the last healing before the cross, given to an enemy.
- Unhardened. Severity cuts ears off; grace opens them. One touch from the Lord was enough where the sword had only wounded.
And Jesus answering said, Suffer thus far; and having touched his ear, he healed him.
The arrest in the garden has begun, and one of the disciples has already drawn blood. Before His captors bind His hands, Jesus repairs the damage. Two questions follow: what did His brief word mean, and why does Luke alone report this healing of an enemy?
The verse above gives the Lord's brief word as "No more of this!" Older translations read it "Permit even this far." One writer takes it that way — as an appeal to the men seizing Him for room to move His hand.
On His way to the cross, though we know He could have snapped the cords, He asked permission to use His hand. "Permit even this far," He said, and then reached out to heal the servant's ear. How can we divide the human from the divine? May we bow and adore!
All four accounts mention the blow; only Luke mentions the cure. One writer sets the four side by side:
Luke alone, true to his testimony to God's grace, tells us of the Lord's answer, "Permit even this far," and of His touching the ear to heal the wounded man. Matthew alone gives the reproof that warned His servant what it means for saints to fight back in a fleshly way. That fits Matthew's picture of the rejected Messiah who is still the true King of Israel. Mark mentions the fact, but no more. John presents the Lord in unfaltering obedience to His Father, as before in divine power and grace. That fits God's purpose in John's part of the record. Nothing was calmer than His correction of Peter's energy. Nothing was more marked than His submission to the Father's will, whatever it cost.
Peter meant well, but a sword had no place here. One writer sets the disciple's act against the Master's:
How slow we are to learn grace, or to grasp the unworldly, the heavenly nature of Christianity! How slow to learn the differences that God has made in the way He deals with people! The law and the sword agreed well; but grace and the sword are absolutely incompatible. Nature understands the first and acts on it easily. But the Christian should seek to know the second, and act on that. The disciple acted in law, and used the sword; the blessed Master acted in grace, and healed the ear of Malchus. How bright the contrast!
This is the final healing before the cross, and the man who received it was leading the party sent to arrest Him.
With a word of gentle rebuke to Peter, He stretched out His hand and touched the severed ear and healed it. The last act of those tender hands before they were bound by His hardened captors was to heal the leader of them. The boldness of Malchus and the rashness of Peter only gave one more opening for the absolute goodness in Him to show itself — the goodness that would triumph over all evil. "Did you not know that I must be about My Father's business?" Those are the first words recorded from His lips in Luke's Gospel, and Luke alone records the healing of Malchus. That business was blessing and not judgment; it was healing and not a sword.
A severed part of the body was restored in a moment. One writer answers those who call the Lord's miracles merely human:
The writer has often said this. Let so-called divine healers, Christian Scientists, Mormons, Pentecostalists, Roman Catholics at Lourdes, and others prove their claims of divine healing. Let them restore a severed limb in a moment of time, leaving no trace of the operation — even a part as small as an ear. Then he will at once recognise their claims. Malchus' ear is a test case, not yet matched by any of our present-day so-called divine healers.
Malchus returned to his master carrying the evidence on the side of his head.
Thank God that it is written on the page of inspiration, "He touched his ear and healed him" (Luke 22:51). And so for years Malchus may have stood before his master, bearing the visible mark of the healing touch of Jesus. That mark was a witness that could not perish to His love and pity — the love of One who, "when He was reviled, did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but committed Himself to Him who judges righteously." Such displays of His grace win the heart, and make Him dear to it.
- Wound. Peter's zeal was loyal but misdirected. The sword goes with the law, not with grace.
- Word. One writer reads "Permit even this far" as an appeal to His captors for room to act — from One who could have snapped their cords.
- Work. The last miracle before the cross healed the man leading the arrest party: blessing, not judgment.
- Witness. Malchus carried the restored ear as lasting evidence of love shown to a man who came against Him.
- Way. The grace that undid Peter's blow is our pattern. Nature reaches for the sword; the Christian is to learn grace and act on it.
And Jesus said to the chief priests and captains of the temple and elders, who were come against him, Have ye come out as against a robber with swords and sticks?
In the garden, the Lord turns from His disciples and speaks to the men who organised the arrest. He does not protest at His arrest. He exposes the way they came — armed and in force, against a man who had taught them in the open every day.
One name in Luke's list of the arresting party is missing from the other Gospels.
You will notice that "chief priests" belongs to Luke's account alone.
So this was not a squad acting on distant orders. The religious heads of the nation were there in person. The "officers of the temple" were not military men at all:
There was also a "CAPTAIN OF THE TEMPLE." The word means "the leader of an army." It is also used of magistrates. But the captain of the temple had charge not of soldiers, but of the priests and Levites.
Jesus says "robber," not "thief," and the two words do not mean the same thing.
There is a difference between a "thief" and a "robber." A thief may simply take what is not his, but a robber is a thief who uses violence. Such were the "two robbers" crucified with Him, and also Barabbas.
The way they came said more about them than about Him:
They could have taken the Lord any day in the temple, out in the open, for He taught openly and publicly. But they were cowards. They feared the people, and they had no principle at all, so they acted as if they were dealing with a thief. They understood a thief, and they knew how to deal with a thief. But the infinite perfections of Christ were beyond them.
They had free access to Him in the temple, day after day, and never lifted a hand. Luke leaves out the display of power that John records. He gives us a word aimed at the conscience instead.
Luke does not mention the divine power of the Lord Jesus. Speaking His Old Testament name, "I Am," He put His attackers flat on their backs. Only John mentions this (John 18:6). But His calm rebuke to the chief priests, captains and elders in verses 52 and 53 should have burned deeply into their consciences. They had come with weapons of this world, but His daily contact with them in the temple had shown that He never adopted such weapons. The mismatch of their coming in this way only exposed their evil motives.
The swords and clubs were beside the point. He was not captured; He gave Himself.
On one side was a little company with Him, just eleven men, and none of them had ever been trained to fight. On the other side was that great crowd. Resistance would have been impossible. The chief priests were determined to prevent it. But the Lord never meant to resist. He would give Himself up to their will — after, as John describes, He had made them aware of His divine presence. For they went back and fell before Him on the ground. What a sight! Trained fighting men, fully armed for war, and officers of the law used to carrying out their superiors' orders — all on the ground before the Lord. The chief captain, the chief priests and elders, and all their attendants lay in the dust. They had no power to achieve their purpose unless the Lord surrendered Himself.
But men were not the only ones at work here:
God was giving up the Lord Jesus to men before He was forsaken in accomplishing the work of redemption.
Moments earlier Peter had answered swords with a sword. That, too, missed what was happening.
Peter first drew his sword and cut off the ear of Malchus in defence of his Master. But the Lord rebuked him because he was using the wrong weapons. He was resisting evil in a worldly way. He forgot that the Lord's kingdom was not of this world. If it were, His servants would fight as the world fights.
- Who — Luke alone records that the chief priests came in person. The temple captains led priests and Levites, not soldiers. The nation's religious heads did this themselves.
- What — "Robber" means a thief with violence, the class of Barabbas. They came dressed for a criminal, because a criminal was all they knew how to handle.
- When — His question answers itself: they had Him daily in the temple and never touched Him. Their swords exposed a motive the open temple would have shamed.
- Why it failed — Armed men lay in the dust before Him. No one captured Him. He surrendered, and God was giving Him up to men on the way to redemption.
- So what — Peter's sword was as wrong as theirs. Christ's kingdom is not defended by the weapons of this world.
When I was day by day with you in the temple ye did not stretch out your hands against me; but this is your hour and the power of darkness.
Armed men take Jesus at night in a garden, and He turns to the chief priests, temple officers and elders who came for Him. For days He had taught openly in the temple and no one touched Him; now the hour belongs to them, and to darkness.
One writer answers two questions about the phrase: whose hour it is, and when it began.
I think the Lord speaks generally; the actual accomplishment was when He was delivered. But it was seen, so to speak, in the Lord's mind from the supper, and He treats it as already present from the moment Judas went out... "Your hour" is the time in which the priests and scribes were allowed to have their way under the influence of Satan.
Every earlier plot against His life had failed. One writer says why, and what changed in this hour.
He had walked a rough road, but in all His ways God had given His angels charge over Him... Though His enemies hated Him bitterly, they could not hurt Him. They led Him to the edge of the rock on which their city was built. They meant to throw Him down into the depths below. But He passed through the middle of them and went on His way unharmed. The very stones they picked up to throw at Him stuck to their murderous hands while He "passed by." No malice, whether of men or devils, could break through that unseen circle of angels. But for this terrible hour that protection was taken away.
Their weapons did not match the man they came for. One writer says what that mismatch revealed.
They had come with human weapons. But His daily contact with them in the temple had shown that He never used such weapons. The strangeness of their coming this way only exposed their evil motives. "But," He added, "this is your hour and the power of darkness" (v. 53). In their brief hour they were allowed to pour out all their hatred against Him and against God, as the willing tools of satanic power.
This hour is a turning point. One writer draws a careful line inside it, between what men did to Him and what He did willingly.
Now, though it served to bring about the work of atonement, the delivering of the Son of Man into the hands of men was not atonement. The hour of the priests and scribes was the hour of the power of darkness. Before that, when the crowd wanted to throw Him down from the brow of the hill, He passed through the middle of them and went His way. No doubt He gave Himself up. John shows this side of the wonderful picture. He describes the band of men going backward and falling to the ground, and records the unspeakably precious words of the blessed Lord — "If you seek me, let these men go."
The hour looked like a win for the enemy. One writer shows how it ended the other way round.
The cross of our Lord Jesus Christ was seemingly Satan's triumph; it was "Your hour and the power of darkness" (Luke 22:53). But a lie can never finally triumph over the truth, nor the liar over Him who is the Truth. Satan's malice went too far and defeated itself. His unspeakable rebellion against God, into which he had drawn the human race, met its doom in the very act that seemed to secure the world for him.
Their hour was short. One writer sets it beside the day when Christ comes back.
When the Lord Jesus in His humiliation was led as a lamb to the slaughter, He said to His enemies, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness" (Luke 22:53). But the tables are to be completely turned. He comes not in humiliation, but in glory. He comes not as a lamb to the slaughter, but as the Lion of the tribe of Judah. He comes not alone, but "with ten thousands of His saints." He comes not to submit to the will of His enemies, but so that His enemies may be made His footstool. It is not man's little hour and the short-lived triumph of evil; it is the great and dreadful day of the Lord.
- Their hour, granted. For a set time the priests and scribes were allowed their way, under Satan's influence.
- Their hour, because His guard lifted. Earlier plots failed; for this hour the protection around Him was taken away.
- Their hour, exposed. Swords and clubs made no sense against a man who taught daily in the temple. Their weapons gave them away.
- Their hour, entered willingly. He gave Himself up. Handing Him over to men served the work of atonement, but was not the atonement.
- Their hour, overturned. The apparent victory of darkness met its doom in the very act. Man's little hour gives way to the day of the Lord.
And having laid hold on him, they led him [away], and they led [him] into the house of the high priest. And Peter followed afar off.
One sentence holds two pictures. A crowd takes Jesus to the high priest's house. Behind them, one disciple keeps his distance. Everything that follows — the fire, the servant girl, the three denials — grows out of that gap.
Where did they take Jesus, and how did Peter get inside at all? One writer traces the moves of that night.
They brought Him first to the house of the high priest. That man's duty was to plead with God for Israel, yet he had become the accuser of Israel's Messiah! Peter followed, but at a distance. In fact, at this time all the disciples had left Him and fled (Matthew 26:56). Later, though, John entered the high priest's house, and his influence got Peter in as well (John 18:15-16).
Where was Peter standing while this went on? Readers often put him in the wrong place.
In Luke 22:54 the "house" of the high priest is not the same as the "court", the open yard. Confusion about this has hidden the truth. Peter was not where the first questioning took place. He was "outside" and "below", in the courtyard.
Two people move in this verse, and each moves for a different reason.
In submission to the Father's will, the Lord allows Himself to be led away to appear before the Jewish council. Peter truly loved the Lord, and he "followed Him". But he acted in self-confidence. He follows without the mind of the Lord, and so follows "at a distance". It happens too often with us as well. Following without divine guidance, he enters into temptation without divine support, and only learns how completely weak the flesh is.
The distance did not come out of nowhere. One writer lists the steps that led up to it.
Poor Peter. When he should have distrusted himself, he was self-confident. When he should have been praying, he was sleeping. When he should have been quiet, he was using a sword no one had told him to draw. When he should have kept separate, he was sitting at the fire among worldly people. When he should have been near Christ, he was following at a distance. And the natural result followed: when he should have spoken up for his Lord, he denied Him. Poor Peter! How like us too!
Peter ends up seated by the fire with the wrong crowd. What does that seat say about him?
It is a very dangerous thing for a Christian to sit down among the enemies of Christ. The fact that he does it proves that decline has set in, and has already gone a long way.
Peter was not the only disciple following that night.
Peter and John both follow Jesus. John was known to the high priest, so he went in with Jesus. Then he sees Peter at the door. He speaks to the servant girl who kept the door, and so gets Peter in. I feel sure that once John and Peter were inside again, John went straight to his Master, to get as near to Him as possible. May the Lord keep us near Him too! To be near Him is the only place of safety for the soul that knows Him. I believe that if Peter had been near Him that day, he would never have fallen.
Peter moved away from the Lord. Did the Lord's heart move too?
Peter has denied the Lord. But has the Lord's heart changed toward Peter? Blessed be His Name, His love is an unchanging love... So at the very moment when Peter turned away from the Lord, the Lord turned to Peter. We read, "the Lord turned and looked at Peter." We may grieve His heart, but we cannot change His love.
- Distance begins early. Following "at a distance" was not Peter's first mistake. Self-confidence, sleeping, and a rash sword came first.
- Distance means no guidance. Peter's love was real. But he followed without his Master's mind, so he met temptation without His support.
- Distance chooses company. A man far from Christ ends up sitting among His enemies. That seat proves the decline has already gone far.
- Distance is the danger; nearness is the safety. John went in and made straight for his Master. Nearness to Him is the only safe place for a soul that knows Him.
- Distance never changes His love. At the moment Peter turned away, the Lord turned toward him. We may grieve His heart, but we cannot change His love.
And they having lit a fire in the midst of the court and sat down together, Peter sat among them.
Peter is in the open yard of the high priest's house. He sits at a fire lit by the men who had just arrested Jesus. The verse looks like a small detail. Commentators read it as the last step in a slow slide, and they ask how a disciple ends up sitting at ease among his Master's enemies.
The word Luke uses for the place tells us how the house was built. It also shows how close Peter still was to the trial indoors.
In Luke we read that they "kindled a fire in the midst of the hall" (Luke 22:55). The word here rendered "hall" is aule, meaning an open court or courtyard. Most of the ground-floor rooms opened directly into the court. Some of them were large and served as a room for hearings, fully open to the court. It was most probably in a chamber of this sort, open at the back to the court, that Jesus stood before the high priest. So we can easily see that when He turned, He could see Peter in the court among the servants.
(Wolston quotes an older translation that says "hall." The ESV says "courtyard.")
Peter did not fall in one moment.
What steps we see in Peter's downward course, leading to his denial of the Lord he loved! First, he declared he was ready to die for Him — and the Lord had just told him that Satan wanted to have him, and that He was praying for him. Next, he slept when he should have been watching. Then he fought when he should have been quiet. Then he followed far off when he should have been near. And now he sits down side by side with the enemies of Christ, warming himself! With such a beginning one can only expect what followed.
One writer applies that slow pattern to every believer.
It was not all in a moment of temptation; it was gradual. And so it is with all departure from God. It begins in what we think small, and the thing goes on step by step — the first step the most difficult of all.
One writer sets the two scenes side by side.
Men are striking the blessed Lord, despising Him, insulting Him and treating Him badly. The enemies of Jesus are pouring out the hatred of their hearts against Him. And there is Peter, one of His own loved disciples, sitting down and warming himself by the enemy's fire!
The fire did its physical work. It could not do more than that.
The fire was pleasant on so cold a night; the company of these officers had perhaps some attraction too. Yet despite them and the charcoal fire, "it was cold." Nor was it in the power of any charcoal fire to make him truly warm. His heart was, sadly, wrong... Away from Christ the disciple is always cold. No worldly warmth, no company, no associations, no pleasures can make up for His absence. Nor did Peter become truly warm till he left the fireside and went out, and there wept bitterly.
Seated where he was, Peter needed no great pressure to break.
Sitting among the Lord's enemies, it is not long before he enters into temptation. It seemed only a small temptation, since it comes from a servant girl. Away from the Lord, in bad company, a very little thing is enough to trip us up. The girl may be weak enough, but she has poor Peter at a disadvantage, for she saw him as he sat by the fire.
One writer names what failed in Peter, and what alone holds.
We see here how worthless natural courage is in the saint, and how weak our own love is when we lean on it. Only God can sustain us. That happens as we distrust ourselves, receive His word by faith, and keep the heart dependent on God. A servant girl frightens an apostle, and the first false step leads to others, deeper and farther from God.
Peter's story does not end at this fire. One writer sets a later fire against it.
Peter fell while he was warming himself at the world's fire. He was in the company of the servants of the high priest, a man who was completely hostile to his Master. Now he finds himself by the fire his Lord had kindled. His Lord not only warms him but feeds him, and the fellow servants around him are as devoted to his Master as he is.
- Distance. Following far off is not neutral. It is the step that seats a disciple at the wrong fire.
- Drift. The fall came step by step: sleeping, striking, following far off, then sitting down. Departure from God still begins in what we think small.
- Cold. The world's fire warms the hands but leaves the heart cold. No company or pleasure makes up for being away from Christ.
- Collapse. In bad company a very little thing is enough to trip us up. Natural courage and our own love cannot hold us; only dependence on God can.
- Restoration. The Lord answers one fire with another. At His fire He warms Peter, feeds him, and gives him true fellow servants again.
And a certain maid, having seen him sitting by the light, and having fixed her eyes upon him, said, And this [man] was with him.
Peter is sitting in the courtyard, among the servants of the high priest, at a fire the Lord's enemies had lit. The light gives him away to a servant girl — so how did a bold disciple end up there, and what did it cost him?
One writer traces the steps that brought Peter to this fire.
What steps we see in Peter's downward course, leading to his denial of the Lord he loved! First, he declared he was ready to die for Him, although the Lord had just told him that Satan wanted to have him, and that He was praying for him. Next, he slept when he should have been watching. Then he fought when he should have been quiet. Then he followed far off when he should have been near. And now he sits down, side by side, with the enemies of Christ, and warms himself! With such a start, one can only expect what followed.
Whose fire was it? One writer turns that detail into a warning.
You well know the sad details that ended in his open denial of his Lord. He slept in the garden. He followed far off. He sat down in the judgment hall to warm himself at a fire lit by Christ's enemies. Ah, let us beware of fires, of warmth and comfort and pleasure, created by the enemies of the Lord Jesus. How many young Christians have forgotten this and paid a heavy price for it. Peter identified himself with the world. He is now ashamed to identify himself with a rejected Master.
Luke's mention of the firelight helps explain something in the other Gospels.
Matthew and Mark both notice Peter's change of place between the first and second challenges. But it is Luke who gives a clue to the reason for it: the firelight had given him away to the girl, and he knew it. How naturally it is all told! No one seems to be trying to harmonise the accounts, yet we believe they can be harmonised. Then John, the only disciple present as an onlooker, tells us who the girl was who first spoke to Peter — she kept the door.
No one threatened Peter. A girl looked hard at him and named him.
And so the trial came — a new kind of trial, not now of patience; but here the question was, Would he confess? The occasion soon came. "A servant girl saw him as he sat by the fire, looked closely at him, and said, 'This man also was with him.'" Now there was nothing violent; there was no strong language — but it was too much for Peter. It was — what? Association with Christ? He was ashamed of his Master. Oh, what a solemn thing! It was not that he did not love his Master, but he feared even this servant girl. The spirit of the world is that strong when we are off the ground of faith, and when we have failed to pray before the temptation comes.
The collapse began long before the courtyard. One writer names its root.
The real root of the whole matter was self-confidence — sadly, no uncommon root among us. We do not in the least question Peter's sincerity. We are sure he meant all he said, and that he had no idea at all of what he was about to do. He did not know himself, and ignorance and self-confidence usually go together. Knowing yourself destroys self-confidence. The better you know yourself, the more you must distrust yourself.
Peter's story does not end at this fire. His Lord kindled another one.
His fall took place while he was warming himself at the world's fire, among the servants of the high priest, who was completely hostile to his Master. Now he sits by a fire his Lord had kindled. There He not only warms him but feeds him, and his companions are fellow servants as devoted to his Master as himself.
One writer compares Peter with someone earlier in Luke's Gospel.
Like the fallen sinner of Luke 7, the believer who falls in Luke 22 sees his sins in the light of the Lord's love; and the love that rose above his sins broke his heart.
- Fire one — chosen. Peter's fall came in stages. He boasted, slept, fought, followed at a distance, then sat down at a fire lit by his Master's enemies.
- Fire one — exposing. The very light he sat in to keep warm revealed his face, and the girl's stare made him move.
- Fire one — small spark. No threat, no violence — a servant girl's remark was enough, because he was off the ground of faith and had not prayed.
- Fire one — real cause. Self-confidence, not lack of love, was the root; knowing yourself is what destroys it.
- Fire two — the Lord's. Love that rose above his sins broke Peter's heart, and at a fire his Lord kindled he was warmed, fed and back among devoted fellow servants.
But he denied [him], saying, Woman, I do not know him.
Peter followed the men who arrested Jesus into the high priest's courtyard, and he sat down at the fire with the Lord's enemies. A servant girl recognised him, and the answer he gave her raises the hard question of how a disciple who loved his Master could deny Him.
The denial was not a sudden collapse. One writer traces the steps down to it, and marks the point where the fall turns:
We have already noticed Peter's gradual descent — his sad progress, from one stage to another, in moral distance and blameworthy decline. He forgot to watch and pray. He followed at a distance. He warmed himself at the enemy's fire. Then came the cowardly denial, and the cursing and swearing. All this was down! down! down! shamefully and awfully down. But when the erring, straying, sinning one had reached the very lowest point, the grace that restores him breaks out with heavenly brightness. That grace shines in both the cause that obtained his restoration and the means that produced it. The former we have in Christ's prayer; the latter in Christ's look.
What broke Peter was not violence or threats. It was a remark from a servant girl:
There was nothing violent here; there was no strong language; but it was too much for Peter. What was it, dear friends? Being linked with Christ? He was ashamed of his Master. Oh, what a solemn thing! It was not that he did not love his Master, but he feared even this servant-maid. So mighty is the spirit of the world when we are off the ground of faith, and when we have failed in prayer before the temptation comes.
The same writer notes how little it takes once a believer is in the wrong company:
Away from the Lord, in bad company, a very little thing is enough to trip us up. The maid may be weak enough, but she has poor Peter at a disadvantage, for she saw him "as he sat by the fire."
Peter did not just stay silent about his Master. He said something untrue, and one writer refuses to soften it:
So he denied, saying, "Woman, I do not know him." It was not only a failure in confession: it was a lie! I know there are many Christians who think that a believer never can tell a lie. I pity them! One's feeling always is, You are going to fail in the thing you think impossible. You are going to fall into a lie yourself, and just because you do not believe it possible.
Luke spaces the denials out. One writer asks what the Lord's warning about three denials meant:
"You will deny Me three times," the Lord had said. Three times! What did He mean by that — a denial spoken three times over, or a denial on three separate occasions? This last is what He meant, and Luke marks the three occasions off clearly. He calls the second "a little later" (ver. 58), and the third "after an interval of about an hour" (ver. 59).
The scene weighs what Peter's own courage and love were worth when tested:
We see here the worthlessness of natural courage in the saint and the weakness of one's own love when relied on. Only God can sustain us. He does this as we distrust ourselves, receive His word by faith, and keep the heart in dependence on God. A servant-girl frightens an apostle, and the first false step leads on to others, deeper and farther, if possible, from God. The unbelief that refuses the Lord's humbling warning works out the fulfilment of His word.
One writer lists what cannot hold us when fear presses:
Like Peter, we have the flesh in us and the devil against us. We have to learn that nothing we have will keep us from denying the Lord under the pressure of fear: no love to the Lord however real, no knowledge of Scripture however great, no good intentions however honest, no experiences however deep, no gift however great, no divine life that we have. Nothing will hold us, unless we are kept near to the Lord and strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus.
Peter's denial is not the end of the story. One writer sets three moments of grace side by side:
First, in the Supper room the Lord said, "Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail." That was grace before the fall. Then came the great crash. Peter had three times denied that he knew the Lord, and we read, "And the Lord turned and looked at Peter." That was grace to Peter at his worst. Then on the resurrection day, when repentance had done its work in Peter's soul, we read, "The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon."
- Down — The denial was the end of a slope: prayer neglected, following at a distance, then sitting at the enemy's fire.
- Small — It took no violence. A servant girl's passing remark was enough, because Peter was ashamed of his Master.
- Lie — Peter did not only stay silent. He said what was false — and one writer pities Christians who think a believer can never lie.
- Worthless — Natural courage, real love, deep experience and great gift all failed here. Only God sustains us, and only as we keep near to Him.
- Grace — A prayer before the fall, a look at his worst, an appearance to him after repentance. Peter denied the Lord; the Lord's love held.
And after a short time another seeing him said, And *thou* art of them. But Peter said, Man, I am not.
Peter's second denial comes soon after the first, and this time a bystander in the courtyard points him out. How could a man so sure of his own loyalty answer like this?
The denials were spread out over time. One writer says God allowed that on purpose:
"Woman, I do not know Him." Nor was this all. "And a little later someone else saw him and said, 'You also are one of them.' But Peter said, 'Man, I am not.' And after an interval of about an hour" — for God did not permit all to come in a few moments. No, He will have it made most plain. He would show the full, terrible result of ignoring the Lord's word about prayer. He would have His servant completely humbled.
The same writer's verdict on the denial is blunt: "It was not only a failure in confession: it was a lie!"
Luke says only that another saw him. One writer compares the accounts:
John records the second denial (John 18:25) as Peter stood and warmed himself. More than one person clearly set on him at once, for the statement is, "They said therefore to him." … In Luke we only read that "another saw him," and so on (Luke 22:58). It seems that many different enemies attacked the apostle, and they followed him around the courtyard. His replies to the various attacks are much the same in each case, though the wording varies, and in one case, as Matthew tells us, Peter added an oath.
Peter had settled in among the wrong company. One writer draws a warning from it:
There he was, among the enemies of the Lord, far away from Jesus. No wonder Satan was too strong for him. And if we, who belong to the Lord now, go among worldly people and try to warm ourselves at the world's fire, we can only expect Satan to trip us up too.
Another writer counts the steps that brought him there:
In Peter's case the stages of decline are clearly marked. First, he boasted in his own strength. Second, he slept when he should have been praying. Third, he drew his sword when he should have been bowing his head meekly. Fourth, he followed at a distance. Fifth, he made himself comfortable among the open enemies of Christ.
By the time this second question comes, the damage is done. One writer points to an earlier collapse:
In truth Peter had fallen before he got into the high priest's palace. Self-confidence was his ruin. … These were boastful words. No doubt he meant them when he said them, for Peter was clearly no hypocrite. But his self-confidence flung him off his guard and took him away from Christ. "Let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall" had no place in his mind. The Lord had told him to pray that he might be kept out of temptation. He did not pray, and he slept when he should have been gathering strength.
A servant girl had already shaken him. One writer names what was missing:
It is very important to remember, and we learn it clearly here, that sincerity is not enough to keep us right. It is only a human quality! We also need the Lord's strength against the schemes of the devil, and against the fear of the world. If the Lord is not there, a young girl can upset an apostle. The fear of man is a dreadful snare for the soul.
The Lord had already prayed for Peter. One writer weighs what He asked for — and what He did not ask:
But oh, the grace of those words! "I have prayed for you" — not that he might not fall, but that, having fallen, his faith might not fail, his confidence might not give way. Nothing can surpass the grace that shines out here. The blessed One knew all that was going to happen — the shameful denial, the cursing and swearing. And yet He said, "I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail."
- Boasted — Peter was no hypocrite; he meant his brave words. But self-confidence flung him off his guard.
- Drifted — the decline came step by step. He slept instead of praying, drew his sword, followed at a distance, then sat down among Christ's enemies.
- Denied — this was not just a failure to confess Him; it was a lie. God let the ordeal stretch over an hour so the humbling would be complete.
- Exposed — sincerity is only a human quality. Without the Lord's strength, a young girl can upset an apostle.
- Held — beneath the whole fall lay a prayer already offered. It was not that Peter would not fall, but that his faith would not fail.
And after the lapse of about one hour another stoutly maintained it, saying, In truth this [man] also was with him, for also he is a Galilaean.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And Peter said, Man, I know not what thou sayest. And immediately, while he was yet speaking, [the] cock crew.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And the Lord, turning round, looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord, how he said to him, Before [the] cock crow thou shalt deny me thrice.
The scene is a courtyard at night, and Peter has just denied for the third time that he ever knew Jesus. A rooster crows, and the prisoner on trial turns His head to meet His disciple's eyes.
The Lord was suffering at that very moment. Commentators point out that His thought was not for Himself but for the man who had just disowned Him. Only Luke records it.
His injured Lord, in the middle of His own distress, thought of His poor servant, who was being driven along by the enemy like a fallen leaf. "And the Lord turned and looked at Peter." We owe this exquisite expression of divine grace to Luke.
John's Gospel leaves this look out. Commentators trace that difference to the distinct character of each account.
Notice that John's Gospel gives us neither the Lord's praying for Peter beforehand and His assurance of restoration, nor His turning and looking at Peter after his last denial. Luke alone gives these plainly — the one Gospel whose character they suit and sustain (see Luke 22:31-32 and 61-62). In John everything turns, not on the discovery of what man's heart is and the grace of the Lord, but on the Person of Christ as the one central object.
Luke records no words from the Lord here, only a look. Writers ask what such a look could say. They rule out anger and read it as love answering denial.
A look, we may be sure, of infinite love. Peter had just turned his back on the Lord by saying, "I do not know the man." At once the Lord turned to Peter. His look must have said to Peter's heart, "You claim not to know Me, but I know you and love you."... Note too that Peter's heartless denial stirred up no resentment or anger in the heart of the Lord. A very small show of ingratitude or desertion or malice from others can stir bitter thoughts in our hearts, and bring out bitter words. It was not so with our Lord.
That look also had to carry Peter through the days before he saw his Master again.
I believe it was a look of wounded love beyond words — tender and unchanging. And I believe Peter lived on that look for the next three days, until he met his Master again in resurrection, and fellowship was restored.
The verse joins two things: the Lord looks, and Peter remembers what the Lord had said. Each did a distinct work in him, and the door he walked out of was not the door Judas took.
The look of the Lord brought back the word of the Lord, for we read that Peter "remembered the saying of the Lord." The look of the Lord broke his heart. The word of the Lord reached his conscience, and so he "went out and wept bitterly." Judas "went out into the night" — the eternal night of blank despair. Peter "went out" in deep repentance, on the way to restoration. He "went out" because his awakened conscience would no longer let him stay in false company.
The look was not the Lord's first move. Writers join His earlier prayer for Peter to this look as two halves of one rescue, arriving when Peter had sunk lowest.
We have already noticed Peter's gradual descent — his sad progress, stage by stage, in moral distance and blameworthy decline. He forgot to watch and pray. He followed far behind. He warmed himself at the enemy's fire. Then came the cowardly denial, the cursing and the swearing. All this was down! down! down!... But when the erring, straying, sinning one had reached the very lowest point, grace shone out with heavenly brightness — in what secured his restoration, and in what brought it about. The first we have in Christ's prayer; the second in Christ's look.
What the Lord did with Peter, He still does with believers who fail. Writers see the pattern here: the Spirit brings His word home to the conscience.
Later, when a particular failure comes, the Spirit applies the word to us. It convicts us of that failure and humbles us for it in self-judgment. So we see in Luke 22:61 that the Lord turned and looked at Peter when he fell... It was the washing of water by the word. The words of Jesus came back to his soul in all their life and power.
- Prayer first. Before Peter ever fell, Christ had prayed for him. That prayer secured his restoration; the look brought it about.
- Look next. The look carried wounded love, not resentment: "You claim not to know Me, but I know you and love you."
- Word after. The look broke his heart. The remembered word reached his conscience, and Peter wept bitterly.
- Two exits. Judas went out into despair. Peter went out in repentance, unable to stay any longer in false company.
- Same today. The Lord still restores His own by bringing His word home to the conscience — a washing of water by the word.
And Peter, going forth without, wept bitterly.
Peter's tears come at the lowest point of his story. He has just denied his Master three times, and the Lord has turned and looked at him. Two questions follow. What breaks a person down like this? And do tears mean he is restored?
Peter's collapse did not catch the Lord off guard. Before that night He had told Peter what would happen, and He had prayed for him. So the tears are not Peter's own doing. They answer that prayer.
This is just as much pure grace as the grace that first looked on us when we were in our sins. In Peter's case, the Lord told him beforehand what would take place. "Satan has desired to have you, that he may sift you as wheat." We all need sifting; "but I have prayed for you." Before Peter got into the danger the Lord had prayed for him. His grace works at the very moment it is needed. "He looked at Peter," and his weeping was an open acknowledgment of Christ's intercession.
The Lord speaks no rebuke here. The look does the work. It brings back the very warning Peter had shrugged off.
"The Lord turned and looked at Peter; and Peter remembered the word of the Lord." The Lord always takes up the point of failure. The first part of Peter's failure was that he made light of the word of the Lord. He really did not believe Him about himself and about his danger, although he did believe in Him as to His own glory... he did not believe Him in practice, that is, about his own danger at that moment. Now he saw what a fool he had been. It was repentance, but only the beginning of repentance.
Peter does not only weep. He leaves. Another man that night also went out, and the contrast matters.
The look of the Lord broke his heart; the word of the Lord reached his conscience. So he "went out and wept bitterly." Judas "went out into the night" — the eternal night of blank despair. Peter "went out" in deep repentance on the way to restoration. He "went out" because his awakened conscience would no longer let him stay in false company. He wept bitterly because the unchanging love of the Lord had reached his heart.
What broke Peter was not a rebuke. Hamilton Smith sets him beside the fallen sinner of Luke 7 and finds one cause in both.
What was the effect of that look? It broke the heart of the poor backsliding Peter. Like the fallen sinner of Luke 7, the backsliding saint of Luke 22 sees his sins in the light of the Lord's love. The love that rose above his sins broke his heart.
The denial was the fruit. Frederick Grant looks under it for the root.
A root is a small thing, and it lies below the surface. Who would think it serious when honest affection spoke out of him in the words, "Lord, I am ready to go with You to prison and to death"? Who would have thought that the fruit of this would be, "I know not the man." Yet it was, plainly. It was not the fruit of his affection, which was real — he was no hypocrite. It was the fruit of his wretched self-confidence. That self-confidence could carry him into the danger, but not through it. It was sure to break down, and it needed to be broken down, at whatever cost. It took the perfect love of God itself to hand him over to Satan to break it down.
Peter's story does not end with the tears. Writers point to a later work, when the Lord dealt with the cause.
I do not wonder that he wept bitterly. The grace of the Heart that he had wounded broke him down. Afterwards we read of the Lord meeting and restoring this backsliding one... He not only restores Peter, but He brings him to judge the thing that led him away, and then He trusts him again. The backslider never gets right with God until he has it all out with Him. When you get back, and judge the point of departure, then He restores the soul.
- Prayer first. Before Peter entered the danger, Christ had prayed for him. The tears answer that prayer.
- Look next. He looks, and does not scold. The look reaches Peter, and it carries love.
- Word remembered. The look brings back the warning Peter had made light of. Recovery starts where the failure started.
- Out he goes. An awakened conscience will not stay in false company. That is what parts Peter's going out from Judas's night of despair.
- Tears begin it. Bitter weeping opens the work. Full restoration comes later, when the Lord makes him judge the self-confidence at the root.
And the men who held him mocked him, beating [him];
Peter has just denied Him, and now the guards mock and beat Him. It looks like the collapse of everything — yet one writer says God's purpose was moving forward the whole time.
There is not a witness for Jesus now. He is alone. Man has it apparently all his own way, in mockery, blows, and blasphemy; but yet he is only accomplishing the will, the purpose, and the grace of God.
Kelly separates what men did to Him here from what God would do later at the cross:
God was giving up the Lord Jesus to men before He was forsaken in accomplishing the work of redemption.
The men abusing Him are not the judges. They are the underlings — and their crude behaviour showed openly what their leaders felt inside.
Then follows the sad story of men's insolence and blasphemy towards the Lord... Such was the crude evil of the underlings. The chiefs might act with more outward politeness, but with no less unbelief and scorn of His claims.
One writer points out what Peter missed by not being there.
With the same quiet calm of perfect manhood, He bore the many abuses of that whole night with humble dignity... Peter did not have the privilege of seeing the Lord's calm dignity as He bore the soldiers' cruel abuse.
They covered His eyes and dared Him to name the one who hit Him. One writer notes how easily He could have answered.
"Prophesy to us, you Christ, who is it that struck you?" Yet He knew the secret of every human heart, and knew everything. That is why He is "ready to judge" — because He knows everything. This was a very simple thing for Him to answer, but He patiently bore it.
He said nothing back. One writer shows where that silence came from.
He suffered while men insulted Him and threatened Him. When they insulted Him, He took it patiently. He did not insult back, and He did not threaten. In front of all His accusers, His resource was in God. He committed Himself to the One who judges righteously... He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
Another writer weighs what that silence cost Him:
He had power to destroy them all in a moment. His words could have shrivelled them at once. Instead He stayed silent. He was deeply wounded in His spirit and grieved in His heart, feeling the very least of what they did to Him with infinite depth. And so He let His creatures pour out their hatred and self-will against Him.
Was there anyone in that room who felt for Him? One writer asks, and answers from the Psalms.
In the middle of all this outrage like no other, this inhuman cruelty and anguish and suffering, was there no human heart to pity Him or feel for Him? No. As we read in Psalm 142:4, "Look to the right and see: there is none who takes notice of me; no refuge remains to me; no one cares for my soul." But what of Peter, who truly loved Jesus in his heart, and who sincerely thought and said he would die for Him? What was he doing while Jesus was blindfolded and cruelly struck? He was denying Jesus, with cursing and swearing. Can we desire greater proof that we cannot trust in ourselves, or our love, or our promises?
Older translations read this verse as "the men that held Jesus." One writer traces that same word to a very different place.
The last example is where the apostle Paul says, "The love of Christ controls us." Here the word is quite different. In Luke 22:63 the same word appears as "held" — "the men that held Jesus." And this is exactly the meaning. So the apostle shows that the love of Christ "held" or gripped him in such a way that it left him no other option than complete devotion to Christ... What a blessed state for any of us, when the love of Christ so rules our souls that it makes us live for Him and for Him alone.
- Held — Rough hands gripped Jesus and would not let go. The same word describes the love of Christ gripping a believer, leaving him no other option than to live for Him.
- Hour — Man seemed to have it all his own way in mockery, blows and blasphemy. In fact he was only carrying out the will, purpose and grace of God.
- Hidden — They covered His eyes and dared Him to name His attacker. They mocked as a false prophet the One who knows the secret of every human heart.
- Hushed — His silence was not weakness. He had power to destroy them in a moment, but committed Himself to God who judges righteously.
- Hollow — No one there pitied Him. The disciple who said he would die for Him was denying Him — proof that we cannot trust our own love or our own promises.
and covering him up, asked him saying, Prophesy, who is it that struck thee?
The trial is over and Jesus stands condemned. Now the guards amuse themselves with their prisoner. They cover His eyes, hit Him, and dare Him to name the man who struck Him. Two questions sit under the scene. What did the blindfold hide from Him? And why did He say nothing?
The abuse came from the guards on duty, not from the judges. One commentator adds that the difference between them and their superiors was only in manners.
Then follows the sad account of men's insolence and blasphemy towards the Lord. Such was the crude evil of the underlings. The chiefs might act with more apparent decency, but with no less unbelief and scorn of His claims.
Another writer lists what followed the sentence of death, step by step.
He was condemned to death, spat upon, and beaten. His face was covered so that He could not see where the blows came from. They called on Him with scorn to declare as a prophet who was striking Him. The officers, Mark has noted, struck Him with their hands.
Their taunt attacked His claim to speak for God. One writer notes what the blindfold could not hide from Him.
"Prophesy to us, you Christ! Who is it that struck you?" Yet He knew the secret of every human heart, and knew everything. That is why He is "ready to judge" — because He knows everything. This was a very simple thing for Him to answer, but He patiently bore it. That is exactly the teaching of Isaiah 50. If man condemned Him, God would justify Him.
He said nothing here, and nothing at the hearings that followed. One writer traces that silence to its source.
In the presence of all His accusers His resource was in God. He committed Himself to Him who judges righteously. Falsely accused before the Jewish council, He "remained silent" (Matthew 26:63). To the accusations of the Jews in front of Pilate, "He gave no answer." To Pilate himself, "He gave him no answer, not even to a single charge" (Matthew 27:12-14). Herod mocked Him and questioned Him at length, "but He made no answer" (Luke 23:9). He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
The same writer asks what our own silence means when people insult us.
If we keep silence when we are insulted, it is not that there is no answer to evil and malice. It is that the answer is left with God. We must never try to take vengeance on the wrongdoer. God keeps all vengeance in His own hands.
While they demanded a prophecy, they were acting one out.
They offered Him every possible insult. In scorn they spit in His face. This fulfilled the words of the prophet: "I gave my back to those who strike, and my cheeks to those who pull out the beard; I hid not my face from disgrace and spitting" (Isa. 50:6). No cry comes from the holy Sufferer — He is beaten and struck, and still answers not a word.
The guards looked like the ones in charge. They were not.
There is not a witness for Jesus now. He is alone. Man has it apparently all his own way, in mockery, blows, and blasphemy; but he is only carrying out the will, the purpose, and the grace of God.
Luke has just told us what Peter was doing while this went on. One writer sets the two scenes side by side.
What was he doing when Jesus was blindfolded and cruelly struck? Quiet now, while we tell it: he was denying Jesus, with cursing and swearing. Could we ask for greater proof that we cannot trust ourselves, or our love, or our promises?
- Held — the abuse came from the guards on duty. Their superiors kept better manners, but shared the same unbelief and scorn of His claims.
- Blindfolded — with His face covered He could not see where the blows came from, so they dared Him to name the man.
- Mocked — they attacked His claim to speak for God, yet He knew every secret heart. Naming the man would have been simple for Him.
- Silent — He left the answer with God, who judges righteously. Our part is to do the same, and never to take vengeance ourselves.
- Overruled — man seemed to have it all his own way. He was only carrying out the purpose and grace of God, fulfilling Isaiah's words as he struck.
And they said many other injurious things to him.
The night before the crucifixion, guards held Jesus, mocked Him and struck Him. Luke closes the scene with the words that came alongside the blows, and two questions follow: what were these men saying, and why did the One who could have answered say nothing?
Luke's word for what these men said is the word for blasphemy. One writer shows how far it reaches, and what decides how serious the sin is:
The Lord Himself applies the term to speech that belittles God the Holy Spirit (Matt. 12:31; Mark 3:28-29; Luke 12:10). The term is also used for the slandering of people, and of Jesus on the cross (Luke 22:65; 23:39). It is translated in different ways: "evil speaking," "railing," "being defamed." How serious the sin is matches the dignity of the person slandered or blasphemed. Human laws fully recognise that same difference.
The men landing the blows were servants and guards. Kelly will not let their masters stand clear of them:
Then comes the sad account of men's insolence and blasphemy towards the Lord… Such was the crude evil of the lower ranks. The leaders might act with more apparent good manners, but with no less unbelief and scorn of His claims.
Luke sums up a long night in one sentence. What he records turns our eyes from the men to their victim:
Our eyes turn now to the Master. He was the target of the vengeful hatred of the Jews who had arrested Him (vs. 63-65). With the same quiet calmness of perfect manhood, He bore in lowly dignity the many abuses they heaped on Him all that night. Luke does not say as much about this ordeal as Matthew does, but points to the many things spoken against Him in blasphemy.
His silence was not helplessness. Hamilton Smith shows what held Him steady under it:
He suffered, being reviled and threatened. When reviled, He took it patiently; He neither reviled nor threatened. In the presence of all His accusers His resource was in God. He committed Himself to Him who judges righteously… He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
Smith then presses that silence on us, and marks where it stops:
How good for us to follow in His steps and to keep silent when men speak malicious words against us, no matter where those words come from. From other Scriptures it is clear that the Christian may "entreat," "exhort," and even "rebuke," but he is never to revile or threaten.
By this point no friend is left to speak for Him. Kelly reads the scene as a victory that is nothing of the kind:
The scene is complete. There is not a witness for Jesus now. He is alone. Man seems to have it all his own way, in mockery, blows, and blasphemy. Yet he is only carrying out the will, the purpose, and the grace of God.
The Lord had already drawn a line between speaking against the Son of Man and speaking against the Holy Spirit. That distinction leaves a door open for men like these:
In the Son of Man, God was set before them as an object outside themselves. They might speak against Him, and yet the Spirit could still work in them, bring them to repentance, and so they could be forgiven. But to blaspheme the Holy Spirit is to put oneself in a hopeless position, for He alone works repentance and faith in the soul.
Kelly links the prayer Jesus made on the cross with the offer Peter later made to the same people:
And Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."… It is the expression of His grace towards sinners… Therefore Peter could preach (Acts 3:17ff.), "And now, brothers, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers… Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord."
- Weight — Blasphemy is speech that tears a person down. How serious it is depends on the dignity of the one attacked, and here it falls on the Lord Himself.
- Reach — The rough guards and the polite leaders differ only in manner. The same unbelief and scorn run through both.
- Silence — He answered nothing. His resource was in God, and He committed Himself to Him who judges righteously.
- Purpose — Men seem to have it all their own way in mockery, blows and blasphemy. In fact they are carrying out the will and purpose of God.
- Mercy — Words against the Son of Man were not the end of hope. The same men could repent and be forgiven, as Peter's preaching later offered.
And when it was day, the elderhood of the people, both [the] chief priests and scribes, were gathered together, and led him into their council, saying,
At daybreak the men who had questioned Jesus in the night met again. They brought Him before the full council of the nation. Israel's highest court now took up the case in due form. Why did men already set on His death need daylight and legal procedure at all?
The night hearing had produced a charge of blasphemy. That charge meant nothing to Rome, and a lawful hearing needed daylight. So they waited for dawn, and then put their question.
The law of Moses punished blasphemy. But in this case the Roman governor would take no notice of such a charge. Besides, before they carried the case to Pilate, the Lord had to be dealt with in due form. For that, it seems, a trial by day was necessary. The day had dawned. So they summoned the Sanhedrin and brought the Lord before it… Before the Sanhedrin they put this question to the Lord: "If you are the Christ, tell us." If He said yes, that answer might bring Him within reach of Roman law. As the Christ, Pilate might hold that He claimed kingly rule over the Jews, and so denied the authority of Caesar.
Another writer says plainly what the daytime meeting was for.
When it was day they met formally in council, to give it regularity. There were now no witnesses. But on the strength of what the Lord had said during the night, they put the question to Him directly, and He answers yes. Then they pronounce their judgment and lead Him away to Pilate.
The council had a fixed make-up and wide power, though Rome had already clipped it.
The Greek word is sunedrion, which means "a sitting together"… From the New Testament we find that it consisted of the chief priests — the heads of the twenty-four courses — the elders, lawyers, and the scribes. It was the highest court of the Jews, acting "in all cases, and over all persons, religious and civil." Its decisions were binding on Jews everywhere. Herod cut back its powers, and later the Romans did the same. They took from the Jews the right to put anyone to death by law.
It looked like a court. It did not act like one.
In the early morning the Jewish council (the Sanhedrim) met to sit in judgment against the Lord Jesus. Yet the sitting had none of the due order of a court. They laid no charge, but asked Him if He was the Christ… They were seeking only some dishonest justification for their murderous intentions.
The council was their own, kept apart from Rome. One writer says why that detail matters.
When the timing suited them, they assembled in their own council. That is, apart from the Romans — probably so in the text, and certainly so in sense, because the guilt was to be their own… The nation itself was to deliver up Jesus, the Messiah, the Lord… But the Lord knew this was the time for Him to be delivered up. It was their hour, not the time of testimony, and He left them to their own wickedness. "If I tell you, you will not believe." While testimony was still speaking to the conscience, testimony was ample.
Luke does not follow the clock. The order he chose carries its own message.
In Luke the order is reversed. Peter's denial comes first, with all the details. Then comes the mockery the Lord suffers, and the decision of the council comes last. We might say we have the moral order here — denied by His own, mocked by His enemies, and crowned by the deliberate judgment of the council.
Their witnesses failed them. So they pressed Him about the title itself — and He turned to something else.
Men brought lying testimony against Jesus, but it failed. They condemned Him for the truth, which man did not believe. He declined to speak of His dignity as Messiah. Man had already rejected it, and it was about to give way to His place as Son of Man at the right hand of the power of God.
- Daylight — The night hearing had no standing in law. They waited for morning to give the proceedings a regular form.
- Form — It looked like a court in every way but one. They laid no charge, and the order of a real trial was missing.
- Ownership — It was their council, kept apart from Rome, so the guilt of handing over the Messiah fell on the nation itself.
- Hour — The time for testimony was over. It was their hour, and the Lord left them to the wickedness they had chosen.
- Throne — Their sentence settled nothing. The Messiah they refused takes His seat as Son of Man at the right hand of the power of God.
If *thou* art the Christ, tell us. And he said to them, If I tell you, ye will not at all believe;
At daybreak the council meets and puts one question to their prisoner: is He the Christ? Before He answers it, He tells them why they are asking.
"The Christ" meant a king. The Sanhedrin — the Jewish ruling council — chose that word with Rome in view.
An answer saying yes might bring Him within the reach of Roman law. For as the Christ, Pilate might hold that He was claiming earthly sovereignty over the Jews, and so denying the authority of Caesar. Before Caiaphas they asked the Lord if He was the Son of the Blessed, and they judged Him worthy of death when He said yes. Pilate would not have cared at all about His claim to be the Son of God. So before the Sanhedrin they asked Him about His Messiahship. If He admitted that, the council would have something solid to accuse Him of before Pilate.
His reply is not evasion. It is a verdict on the men asking.
The Lord knew it was the time to be delivered up, that it was their hour, not the time of testimony, and He left them to their own wickedness. "If I tell you, you will not believe." In the time of testimony to conscience, testimony was ample. Now they were carrying out a plot to destroy Him out of jealousy. "If I should ask, you will not answer Me at all, nor let Me go." The Lord in truth judges their state.
The words "nor let Me go" follow an older translation of verse 68.
He gives them no comfort about themselves. One writer turns that into a question for us.
How He looks at the questioner! Do you think we deal faithfully with one another? No; we are too fond of letting people think well of themselves, and we call it tenderness; but it is a hollow thing! You never find in Christ the human niceness that flatters. There was love in every form of faithfulness, but no human niceness. Now the Lord deals with their condition in answer to their question.
He offers to put the same question back to them, and they will not touch it.
They had already made up their minds to disbelieve Him. If He would ask them the same question — that is, whether He was Christ — they would not answer. They did not want to get into a discussion about who the Christ really is, in case they trapped themselves... Nor would His answer to them, one way or the other, change their determination not to let Him go. They were only looking for some dishonest justification for their murderous intentions.
The question was a trap. He answers it anyway.
It was in fact the incriminating question; and since they asked it for an evil purpose, why should He give them the answer they were fishing for? But this does not sway Him. What they make of it is for them to decide; He will not on that account hold back testimony of such unspeakable importance to them. He is in their hands, for them to work their cruel will on Him. Yet this only brings Him out of His present humiliation and sets Him free for the glory ahead of Him... He is condemned, not at the mouth of other witnesses, but by His own.
He does not argue His claim with men who have already thrown it away. He points forward to the place He is about to take.
He declined to speak of His Messianic dignity. Man had already rejected it, and His position as Son of Man on the right hand of the power of God was about to replace it. If they all conclude that He is the Son of God, then whoever says it or denies it, He acknowledges it and does not deny it. He acknowledges that truth which is eternal life to every believer.
- Motive. The council asked about the Christ, not the Son of God. A claim to kingship was the one charge Rome would act on.
- Diagnosis. "You will not believe" is not a refusal to answer. It reads their state: the time of testimony was over, and their minds were made up.
- Exposure. His counter-question shows they had no wish to discuss who the Christ is. Nothing He said would have changed their plan to destroy Him.
- Faithfulness. He meets them with love that tells the truth. He never flatters people into thinking well of themselves.
- Outcome. His own words condemn Him. He turns from a rejected Messiahship to the Son of Man at the right hand of the power of God. Their hour ends in His exaltation.
and if I should ask [you], ye would not answer me at all, nor let me go;
At daybreak the council asks Jesus one question: "If you are the Christ, tell us." His answer turns them down on both sides, and shows what happens when men ask about Christ with their minds already made up.
This was not a trial looking for truth. One commentator shows what each half of the Lord's reply exposes:
He responded that if He would tell them the truth, they would not believe Him. They had already made up their minds to disbelieve Him. On the other hand, if He would ask them the same question — that is, if He was Christ — they would not answer. They did not want to be involved in a discussion about who the Christ really is, in case they trapped themselves... Whatever He answered, it would not change their determination not to let Him go. They were only looking for some dishonest excuse for their murderous intentions.
The council — the Sanhedrin — asks about the Christ, not about the Son of God. One writer explains why that wording mattered:
Before the Sanhedrin they put this question to the Lord: "If you are the Christ, tell us." If He said yes, that answer might bring Him within the reach of Roman law. As the Christ, Pilate might hold that He claimed to be an earthly king over the Jews, and so denied the authority of Caesar... To His claim to be the Son of God, Pilate would have been completely indifferent. So before the Sanhedrin He was asked about His being the Messiah. If He admitted that, the council would have something solid to accuse Him of before Pilate.
Earlier the Lord had answered their questions fully and worked signs in front of them. Here He states plainly that words would now be wasted — and one writer ties this to the changed hour:
The Lord knew the time had come for Him to be handed over. It was their hour, not the time of testimony, and He left them to their own wickedness. "If I tell you, you will not believe." In the time of testimony to conscience, testimony was ample. Now they were the ones carrying out a plot to destroy Him out of jealousy. "If I should ask, you will not answer Me at all, nor let Me go." The Lord in truth judges their state.
A note on the wording: the closing phrase "nor let me go" stands in older English Bibles but not in the ESV, because manuscripts differ. One commentator lays out the evidence directly:
Several manuscripts, most cursives, the Syriac and Old Latin versions here add "nor let me go," which the editors leave out, following others.
Knowing they will not believe could have been reason enough for silence. It was not. Another writer notes that the Lord's certainty about their response never once shapes what He is willing to say:
A passage found only in Luke points this out. They ask, "If you are the Christ, tell us." He can say with assurance, "If I tell you, you will not believe; and if I also ask you, you will not answer Me, nor let Me go." It was in fact the incriminating question. They asked it for an evil purpose, so why should He give them the answer they were after? But this does not sway Him. What they make of it is for them to decide. That will not make Him hold back a testimony of such unspeakable importance to them.
This was not the first time Jesus met a question like this. One writer recalls how He handled it before:
Our Lord refused to continue talking with those who had clearly closed their eyes to the light. So when the Pharisees ask Him by what authority He does His miracles, He asks them a question of His own. It exposes their attitude toward God. What did they think of the baptism of John? Did they believe his call to repentance was a message from God, or only a human word? The Pharisees were not prepared to commit themselves either way.
Another writer traces such questions back to the will, not to a lack of evidence:
Man cannot deny that things come from heaven; but he will not believe. He may bring out his hard questions, like those of old, but with no real desire for the truth. What his conscience cannot deny, he will neither admit nor act on.
- Decided — they had already made up their minds not to believe, and the Lord said so to their faces.
- Loaded — they asked about the Christ, not the Son of God, because only that charge would stand before Pilate.
- Silent — the time for testimony to their conscience had ended. He left them to their own wickedness and judged their state.
- Faithful — He knew they would not believe or answer. He spoke anyway, because the testimony mattered that much to them.
- Exposed — the will, not the evidence, is the barrier. A man may raise hard questions with no real desire for the truth.
but henceforth shall the Son of man be sitting on the right hand of the power of God.
At daybreak Jesus stands before the council and refuses to argue His case. Then He says one sentence about where He is going next — and that sentence, not the witnesses, decides His death.
An older translation read "hereafter," which pushes the words far into the future. Commentators argue for "from now on," and they point out what Luke drops.
Luke reports His answer to the chief priests very briefly (Luke 22:66-71). He also leaves out the coming in the clouds of heaven and the future kingdom. He notices only the present position of Christ. Note: both in Matthew and Luke, instead of "Hereafter" we must read "From now on the Son of Man shall sit," or "you will see the Son of Man sitting." That is, He was taking this new position now.
The council asks Him about one title. He answers with another.
People brought lying testimony against Jesus, but it failed. He was condemned for the truth, which people would not believe. He refused to speak of His dignity as the Messiah. Man had already rejected that title, and His position as Son of Man at the right hand of the power of God was about to take its place.
"Son of Man" is the name Jesus keeps giving Himself. One writer explains why He preferred it.
It looks for the divine hand of power to rest on the man of that power — the Son of Man whom God had made strong for Himself. This is why the Lord keeps giving Himself the title Son of Man. Daniel 7 alone would not explain it, since that passage simply gives the Son of Man a special place. He is the One who is indeed rejected, but on whom God's right hand is to rest in power. To this the Lord refers in Luke 22:69.
The seat at God's right hand is not only an honour. It is the place of power, and He is waiting there.
This is Christ shown in judicial power. We think we have settled the ascension by saying He rose and went up. But you have to follow Him into the highest heavens in several characters. He is there personally, with the Father. He is there as priest, making intercession in the sanctuary. And He is there as One whom earth has sent — and whenever we get that form, we see Him going up in judicial glory. That is what is presented here. He has not gone up to heaven as a sanctuary, but as the place of power, waiting till His enemies are made His footstool.
Their question was a trap, and He knew it. He answers it anyway, and holds nothing back.
It was in fact the incriminating question. They asked it for an evil purpose, so why should He give them the answer they were fishing for? But this does not sway Him. What they make of it is for them to decide. He will not, for that reason, hold back a testimony of such unspeakable importance to them. He is in their hands, to work their cruel will on Him. Yet this only brings Him out of His present humiliation and sets Him free for the glory before Him. "From now on the Son of Man shall be seated at the right hand of the power of God." They understand the claim and challenge it. "Are you the Son of God, then?" they ask. "You say that I am," He answers. He is condemned, not on the word of other witnesses, but on His own.
Stephen later stands before that same council. He tells them what he can see in heaven.
Power, then, belongs to the crucified One. As Son of Man He will one day use it. Everything must be put under the feet of the One whom the Jews crucified and killed. Many of the council members had probably been there when the Lord Jesus declared that He was the Son of Man (Luke 22:69-71). They had a hand in judging Him worthy of death for saying it. Now Stephen tells them to their face that he can see the One who once stood at their bar standing at the right hand of God. The conclusion was plain — a child could draw it. Their guilt was undeniable.
- From now on. The turning point is the timing. This is not a distant promise. It is a position He begins to take at that hour, so "from now on" says it better than "hereafter."
- From Christ to Son of Man. They asked about His title as Messiah, which man had already refused. He answers with the title of the rejected One on whom God's right hand rests in power.
- From humiliation to the right hand. Their power over Him only served to bring Him out of His low place and set Him free for the glory ahead.
- From seat to footstool. He goes up not to a sanctuary but to the place of power. There He sits in judicial glory, waiting until His enemies are made His footstool.
- From His own mouth to their own eyes. He is condemned on His own testimony. Later the same council hears Stephen say he sees that Man at the right hand of God.
And they all said, *Thou* then art the Son of God? And he said to them, *Ye* say that I am.
At daybreak the whole council put one last question to Jesus, and His answer decided the case. Everything hangs on a few words: was this a confession, or a way of avoiding one?
Jesus had just spoken of the Son of Man at the right hand of God's power. The council drew their own conclusion, and He did not correct them.
They challenged Him about being the Christ. His answer showed that He knew two things: their unbelief was fixed, and so was their determination to condemn Him. Still, He claimed to be the Son of Man, who would soon wield the very power of God. They took this to mean that He must also claim to be the Son of God. This He indeed was, and His reply, "You say that I am," was an emphatic "Yes." They condemned Him to death for claiming to be the Christ, the Son of Man, the Son of God.
This daybreak hearing before the Sanhedrin — the Jewish ruling council — was separate from the night questioning before Caiaphas, the high priest. Rome would act on a claim to be the Christ. A claim to be the Son of God meant nothing to Pilate.
Before the Sanhedrin the question put to the Lord was, "If you are the Christ, tell us." Saying yes might bring Him within the reach of Roman law. Pilate might hold that as the Christ He claimed earthly rule over the Jews, and so denied the authority of Caesar. Before Caiaphas they asked the Lord if He was the Son of the Blessed, and when He said yes they judged Him worthy of death. Pilate would not have cared at all about a claim to be the Son of God. So before the Sanhedrin they asked Him about His Messiahship. If He admitted that, the council would have something solid on which to accuse Him before Pilate. He answered yes, and added that from now on the Son of Man would be seated at the right hand of the power of God — a reference to Psalm 110:1, speaking of His ascension. They well understood what that meant, and at once challenged Him.
He gave no answer about being the Messiah. He gave one about being the Son of God. Commentators point to a difference between a role given to Him and who He is in Himself.
The Lord answers nothing at all to the question about the Messiah, for that mission as such was ended. But when it came to His personal glory, He could not refuse to confess. That glory demanded the truth and their recognition of it, and could not do otherwise, though what followed was a shameful condemnation. It was not an office He held in relation to others, but the sure, necessary, and everlasting dignity of His Person in relation to the Father. He had to own this, or else not tell the truth.
The council meant the title as an accusation. What they forced into the open was the very thing on which faith rests.
If they all conclude that He is the Son of God, then whoever may affirm it or contradict it, He acknowledges it and does not deny it. He acknowledges that truth which is eternal life to every believer.
Their case rested on nothing but His own words, and He gave those words knowing what would follow. The reply quoted below comes from an older translation.
That was in fact the incriminating question. Since they asked it for an evil purpose, why should He give them the answer they were after? But this does not sway Him. What they make of it is for them to decide. He will not on that account hold back a testimony of such enormous importance to them… They understand the claim and challenge it: "Are you the Son of God, then?" they ask. "You say it: for I am," He answers. They condemn Him not on the word of other witnesses, but on His own.
The judges heard His confession and threw it out. Believed instead of rejected, it is what marks a Christian.
"Who is it that overcomes the world except the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God" (1 John 5:5)? He confessed this before His judges, and for it they condemned Him to death. The Jews, led by their rulers, insisted on His crucifixion, and Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they demanded.
- Question. The council wanted legal leverage. They could take a claim to be the Christ to Pilate. A claim to be the Son of God meant nothing to him — and that is what they got.
- Confession. His answer was a plain yes. He knew what they would do with it, and He told them the truth anyway.
- Person. He could leave an office unclaimed before men who had already refused it. He could not disown who He is in relation to the Father.
- Cost. No other witness convicted Him. His own words did, and they cost Him His life.
- Faith. The same words give eternal life to everyone who believes them. This faith overcomes the world.
And they said, What need have we any more of witness, for we have heard ourselves out of his mouth?
The council had been trying to build a case against Jesus. Now they stop, because His own words are all the proof they want. So what did they hear, and why did He say it?
The case built from false witnesses had already collapsed. What condemned Him was something else.
Men brought lying testimony against Jesus, but it failed. They condemned Him for the truth, which man did not believe. He refused to speak of His dignity as the Messiah. Man had already rejected that, and it was about to give way to His place as Son of Man at the right hand of the power of God.
He had said almost nothing to their earlier questions. Yet on the one point of who He is, silence was impossible.
But when it came to His personal glory, He could not refuse to confess it. That glory called for the truth, and necessarily for their recognition of it, even though the result was a shameful condemnation. This was not an office held in relation to others. It was the sure, necessary, and everlasting dignity of His Person in relation to the Father. He had to own it, or else not tell the truth.
The boast in this verse is that they heard Him with their own ears. That admission turns the trial inside out — the men on the bench become the guilty party.
The Lord had nothing to hide. No, He had to be condemned for the truth, because He was the Truth... They themselves had heard the truth, the glory of His Person, from the mouth of Truth — and as judges they condemn themselves completely. As they say, "We have heard it ourselves from His own lips," and they reject it. It was complete and final. They could go no further. As judges, they reject the Messiah, the Son of God, who bore witness to the truth, and they reject Him for doing it. After that they had only to complete their evil the way religious evil always does: by leading the world to finish the wickedness and complete its guilt.
There is a further problem with what the council does here. Their own law was against it.
Also, the law of the Jews said, "Our law condemns no one to death on his own confession," and, "it is a basic principle with us that no one can damage himself by what he says in judgment." So when Caiaphas put the question to the accused, "founding a condemnation on the answer was the last violation of formal justice."
This verdict was not a mistake. They already suspected the answer to their own question.
They asked the crucial question: was He the Son of God? His answer was positive. The form of the expression simply means, "as you say, so it stands: I am." He had not been advertising who He was, but the matter bothered their consciences. So much in His life and ministry was evidence that they were afraid He might be the Son of God. Yet they hated the thought of giving Him a place of honour, and despite every evidence they were determined to reject Him.
"We have heard it ourselves" sounds like an advantage. In fact hearing Christ speak and refusing Him is the heaviest position a person can occupy.
They were the rebellious people who had ears to hear but did not hear. This stubborn refusal to listen to their Messiah made their guilt as great as it could be. The Lord Himself said, "If I had not come and spoken to them, they would not have been guilty of sin, but now they have no excuse for their sin."
- They heard. The false evidence against Him had already failed. So the council rests its case on words Jesus spoke Himself.
- He confessed. He passed over the question about the Messiah. But He would not stay silent about who He is. To deny that would be to stop telling the truth.
- They condemned. The judges admitted they had heard the truth from His own mouth. They rejected it anyway, and sentenced Him for it.
- They broke their own law. Jewish law forbade putting a man to death on his own confession. The proof they call enough was itself a breach of justice.
- They were left without excuse. The evidence of His life troubled their consciences, yet they still refused Him. To hear Christ speak and then reject Him leaves no excuse.
And the whole multitude of them, rising up, led him to Pilate.
The council has finished with Jesus, and now the whole body of them takes Him to the Roman governor. Two questions shape what follows: why did they need Pilate at all, and why does Luke stress that the whole company went?
Why did the council need Pilate at all?
The trial of our Lord — if such a mockery can be called a trial — divides into two parts. The first was before the high priest: the religious side. The second was before Pilate: the political side. The Jews had no power to carry out the death penalty; that rested in the hands of the Romans. This explains why the Jews, after condemning the Lord, brought Him before the Gentile power.
Every kind of authority now shares the guilt.
Jesus had to be condemned by man in every capacity — religious and civil. The Jews, under the name of religion, carried the chief guilt. They stirred up the civil authorities and morally forced them to give way against their conscience. We see this in the mock trial before Pilate. So we see that He was "despised and rejected by men." It was not by one class only, but by every class. We shall find priests and people, governor and governed, right down to the lowest of them. All joined in insulting the Son of God.
The accusers do not repeat before Pilate what they said in the council.
How skilfully they adapted themselves to the moment! When He was before the Jews, they charged Him with making Himself the Son of God. Before the Roman governor, they charge Him with making Himself a King. He had a right to both of these titles. Both claims were brought forward and challenged in a human court. So everything has been contradicted, and everything will be vindicated. We see Him standing challenged before man; we find Him soon afterwards vindicated before God.
Pilate examined the case and found no crime. The outcome did not follow his finding.
After a brief examination of the case, Pilate states that he finds "no guilt in this man" (v. 4). That should have settled the matter for him. But we read that the crowd only grew fiercer. Here a first element of (democratic) politics becomes visible. What matters is not the correct moral judgment of the case, but the opinion and mood of the crowd. As people live in a moral vacuum (Scripture calls this darkness), judgment is handed over to the masses. As a result, the Man who "went about doing good" was put to death "by hanging him on a tree" (Acts 10:38, 39). We do well to respect the old warning: "You shall not fall in with the many to do evil" (Ex. 23:2).
The pressure on Pilate came from men who claimed to speak for God.
The civil power must give in to the wilful evil of God's apostate people. This is the history of the world, and of the two, the religious side is always nearest to Satan. The chief priests showed their hatred by an accusation designed to arouse the governor's jealousy. What they charged Christ with about Caesar was entirely false. Yet it rested on the subtle groundwork of something they knew He could not deny, since they counted on His truthfulness.
Peter prayed about this scene, and traced it back to God's own hand.
Peter does not only bring this home to Israel while preaching at Pentecost. He delights to say it to God: "for truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever your hand and your plan had predestined to take place" (Acts 4:27-28). To fulfil God's counsel, Christ had to die. God used the occasion of man's rejection of His Son to carry out this great work. It would secure His glory and be the basis for accomplishing all His purpose.
- Handover. The council had no power to execute, so it moved Jesus from its own courtroom to the Roman governor's.
- Every capacity. That handover spread the guilt: religious and civil, leaders and people, all condemned Him.
- Every title. They accused Him as Son of God before the Jews and as King before Pilate — both titles truly His.
- Every pressure. The verdict followed the mood of the crowd, not the evidence. Scripture warns us not to join the many in doing evil.
- Every step foreseen. What man did in hatred, God had already planned, to secure His glory and accomplish all His purpose.
And they began to accuse him, saying, We have found this [man] perverting our nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that he himself is Christ, a king.
The council has finished with Jesus and hands Him to Pilate. The charge changes with the court: blasphemy moved the priests, but only treason would move Rome.
Before the council, the claim that He was the Son of God had convicted Him. Here the accusers drop it, and commentators explain why.
They laid no charge about anything He had done. They did not even charge Him with saying He was the Son of God, because Roman law would never condemn a man for that. So they made the vague accusation that they found Him perverting the people. This was no charge for a court of law, so they added a false charge that He forbade paying tribute to Caesar... They also charged Him with saying He was the Christ, a King. This might make Pilate think He was challenging the authority of Caesar.
The tribute charge was not a mistake. They had already heard His own answer on that point. And their record under Roman rule made this sudden loyalty absurd.
These men were truly restless under Roman rule, and broke out from time to time into violent opposition. Yet here they were eager to put on a show of loyalty. But this was a small thing compared with the blindness of unbelief — which denied their own Messiah. No charge could be more false. He had withdrawn from them when they wanted to make Him a king. Just before this He had plainly told them to render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's. And just as much, to give God the things that are God's.
The last part of the accusation was not invented. That is what made it dangerous.
There was a measure of truth in what they said, and yet it was false in the way it was presented. Many a word spoken in this world is true, and people press it into the service of falsehood. How often a person tells the truth to hide the truth! ... It was perfectly true that Christ was a King. He is the King of kings... Their aim was to bring forward His royal titles and glories as if He were claiming them to overthrow Roman power. That is where the untruth lay.
The switch from blasphemy to kingship was not confusion. It was calculation.
It was they who denounced Christ, saying that He made Himself the Son of God. Now it is they who cry before the Romans that He says He is a King. This, they know, is the point Pilate will take most seriously. Oh, the subtlety of the human heart! How cunningly it fits every occasion to its own wicked ends! ... It is a solemn fact that there is no hatred in this world equal to religious hatred; no hatred so bitter, blind and relentless.
They built the accusation on something they were sure He would not deny. That calculation both condemned them and gave the world an official verdict on His innocence.
The wickedness of the chief priests was clear in their accusation. It was designed to stir up the governor's jealousy. What it said about the tribute was completely untrue. But they mixed it with a groundwork they knew Jesus could not deny, since they counted on His truthfulness. This proved their complete and hardened wickedness. The evangelist then gives us, by the Spirit, His good confession before Pontius Pilate. Then Pilate declares that he finds no fault in Him. This was so that the guilt of the Jews might be complete, and the guilt of the Gentile civil power too.
The false charge was about paying tax to a foreign ruler. That raises a question for believers under any government.
It is very helpful for us as Christians to see that there is no power in this world except what God has ordained... It is not a question of whether the power is good or bad. The Christian's place is to be in subjection to the civil magistrate. Why? Because there is no authority except from God, the source of all power... "Whoever resists the authorities resists what God has appointed, and those who resist will incur judgment." ... Roman rule came on the Jewish people as part of God's government of them. So for Christ to use His own authority to set aside Roman power would have been to deny the very thing He was insisting on. He was still a King, but His kingdom was not of this world, and the time for Him to wear the crown had not yet come.
- Swapped charge. Blasphemy convinced the council. It would never move Rome, so they built a political charge for Pilate.
- Known lie. The tribute charge went against His own plain teaching. They knew it was false when they made it.
- Half-truth. He truly was King. The lie lay in presenting that title as a plot against Rome — people press truth into the service of falsehood.
- Real motive. Behind the careful wording was religious hatred. It fits every occasion to its own ends.
- God's reversal. The charge they knew He would not deny became His good confession. Pilate then gave the verdict that he found no fault in Him.
And Pilate demanded of him saying, Art *thou* the king of the Jews? And he answering him said, Thou sayest.
Jesus has been moved from the Jewish court to the Roman one, and the charge has changed with the room. Pilate asks whether He is a king. The short answer He gives is the one claim He will never withdraw.
The accusers chose the charge that would move a Roman governor.
How skilfully they adapted themselves to the moment! When He was before the Jews, they brought a charge of making Himself the Son of God. Before the Roman governor, they bring a charge of making Himself a King. He had a right to both of these titles. We see Him standing as one challenged before man; we find Him later vindicated before God.
The charge was false, and the men bringing it had no real loyalty to Rome.
These men could not bear Roman rule. From time to time they broke out in violent opposition. Yet here they were eager to look loyal. But this was a small thing compared with the blindness of unbelief — which denied their own Messiah. Nor could any charge be more false. He had left them when they wanted to make Him a king. Only shortly before, He had plainly commanded them to render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.
The wording can sound evasive to a modern reader.
When Pilate examined Him in front of the crowd, Jesus said only two words in the original, "You have said so." They mean the same as the single English word "Yes." He confessed that He really was the King of the Jews. That was the exact charge laid against Him in the presence of the Roman power. Matthew, Mark and Luke all agree on this point.
One word taken back would have ended the trial.
Pilate would have had no reason to fear his master's displeasure or the people's uproar. He could have done as he pleased and released his prisoner. He needed only one thing: that the blessed Confessor would change the word that had left His lips and withdraw His claim to be a King. But Jesus answered, "You say that I am a King." From this claim there could be no drawing back. Here was His "good confession before Pontius Pilate." Though His own did not receive Him, still He was theirs; though the world did not know Him, still it was made by Him.
He owned the title, though nothing about Him looked royal.
Now when Pilate raises the question, "Are you the King of the Jews?" He answers, "You have said so." It is a beautiful thing to carry conscious glory in a hidden form. He owned Himself a King when He was asked. It was a glory He carried constantly, but constantly hid. We should be aware of honours that would outshine the glories of the world. But the world is in such a moral state that we cannot display them. That was the life of Jesus. He was consciously a vessel of glory, but morally obliged to hide it.
He owned the authority of the court that judged Him. Those who follow Him walk the same road.
The Lord acknowledged the authority God had put in place, however much He might suffer under it. This is the true safeguard of faith, however unfaithful the authority may be. We are called to walk in His steps. We are not of the world, just as He is not of the world. By and by we shall reign with Him and shall judge the world; we shall judge even angels. All the more, then, we are called in spirit above the world, and still to be subject to God's authority within it. But we must obey God rather than man. So we suffer wherever His will and the world's authority clash.
His accusers built their case on the one thing they knew He would not deny.
The wickedness of the chief priests was clear in their accusation. It was designed to stir the governor's jealousy. What they said about the tax was entirely contrary to the truth. Yet they mixed it with a foundation they knew Jesus could not deny, because they counted on His truthfulness. This proved their complete and hardened wickedness. The Gospel writer then gives us, by the Spirit, His good confession before Pontius Pilate. And Pilate declares that he finds no fault in Him. So the guilt of the Jews was made complete, and the guilt of the civil power among the Gentiles too. That testimony came from the authority God had appointed, and against their own will.
- The charge — before the Jewish court He was accused of claiming to be the Son of God; before Rome, of claiming a throne. He had a right to both titles.
- The confession — "You have said so" means "Yes." Before the Roman governor He owned what He was.
- The cost — one word taken back would have freed Him. He would not take it back, and He made His good confession knowing the price.
- The concealment — He carried real glory the whole time and kept it hidden. He owned His kingship only when Pilate asked. Those who follow Him carry honours the world will not let them display.
- The consequence — His truthfulness exposed the hardened wickedness of His accusers. Pilate's own "no fault" verdict then sealed the guilt of Jew and Gentile alike.
And Pilate said to the chief priests and the crowds, I find no guilt in this man.
Luke moves from the council of the chief priests to the Roman governor, where the leaders bring a political charge against Jesus. Pilate answers it from the bench in one sentence — a verdict of acquittal — and the trial carries on anyway.
Luke records the exact charge the leaders brought. He also shows how little the governor thought of it.
Jesus stood before Caesar's judgment seat, since the Roman governor represented the emperor. Luke tells us what the charge was, and perhaps its exact wording: "We have found this one perverting our (not, the) nation, and forbidding to give tribute to Caesar, saying that He Himself is Christ, a King." But Pilate was in no mood to take the accusation seriously. He asked the Lord whether He was the King of the Jews, and He admitted it to Pilate. Still, there was nothing here for him to judge. So he said to the chief priests and the crowd, "I find no guilt in this man." He knew, as both Matthew and Mark tell us, that the chief priests had handed Him over out of envy. So he tried several times to escape the responsibility of condemning the Lord to death.
The charge took something true about Jesus and bent it into a crime against Rome.
There was some truth in what they said, and yet the way they presented it was false. Many a word spoken in this world is true, and yet it is put to work in the service of a lie. How often a person tells the truth to hide the truth!... It was completely true that Christ was a King. He is the King of kings... It was completely false that He was pressing His claims as King at that time to set aside the Roman government.
"I find" is not a private opinion. It is the language of a courtroom, still used in that sense today.
"Find." This is the legal use of the word, which we still keep today; compare 2 Corinthians 5:3, Philippians 3:9, 2 Peter 3:14. For the full account of the examination before Pilate, see John 18:33 onwards.
Pilate did not say this only once. He gave the same verdict again and again, and one writer sees God's hand in that repetition.
First, there is abundant witness that Jesus was faultless. Pilate had said so during the earlier examination (verse 4). Now he repeats it twice (verses 14, 22), and he states it a fourth time as Herod's verdict (verse 15). God took care that this witness should be full and official.
Israel's sacrifices had to be animals with nothing wrong with them. That is why this verdict matters.
The Jews had to search carefully for their sacrifices, to find animals without a blemish or a spot. They might look over many creatures before they found a spotless one, and only such an animal could be used in the service of the sanctuary... Wicked Pilate declared again and again before all the people that he found "no guilt in Him". The traitor, condemned by his own words, said he had "betrayed innocent blood."... The thief on the cross, dying beside Him, cried out, "This man has done nothing wrong."
Pilate gave this verdict as the authority Rome had put in place. His words did more than clear Jesus.
The gospel writer then gives us, by the Spirit, His good confession before Pontius Pilate. And Pontius Pilate declares that he finds no guilt in Him. So the guilt of the Jews was made complete, and so was the guilt of the ruling power among the Gentiles. This was testimony given against their own will, by the authority God had appointed.
Pilate's conscience pulled one way. The world pulled the other. One writer turns that into a question for the reader.
Is there not many a person here in the same moral position as Pilate? Your conscience touches you. You would like to be on the side of the Lord Jesus Christ... You would like to stand up for Him, to be His friend, to be on His side. But then there is the world. You cannot give up the world. You cannot break with it... They cannot give up their Caesar. "If you let this Man go, you are not Caesar's friend."... The moment Pilate heard that word, his choice was made.
- Charge. The accusation twisted a true thing — that Jesus is King — into a false claim that He was undermining Rome.
- Verdict. "I find" is courtroom language. The governor examined the case and found nothing against Him.
- Witness. Pilate says it four times in this chapter. God made sure the record of Jesus' faultlessness was official.
- Lamb. Israel searched hard for a sacrifice without a blemish. Here a judge, a traitor and a dying thief all say this One had no fault.
- Failure. Pilate had the right verdict and still gave Him up. He would not lose Caesar. That is the warning for anyone convinced about Christ but unwilling to break with the world.
But they insisted, saying, He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judaea, beginning from Galilee even on to here.
The Roman governor has just called the prisoner innocent, and the accusers only press harder. Their new charge is political: a teacher who stirs up crowds across the whole country sounds like a public danger.
Pilate's verdict should have ended the matter. One writer notes the pretended loyalty of the accusers, and where the Lord's honest answer really hurt Him:
The accusers were restless under Roman rule and broke out from time to time into open revolt, yet here they were quick to pretend loyalty... It is striking to see that the Lord's confession of the truth did no damage to His cause before the Roman governor. He really was the King of the Jews. It damaged Him only with His own people, who were blinded against the truth... Satan was pushing the unbelief of Israel to the last extreme. It is always so in the end with his victims. Christ, in the fullness of His grace and truth, thoroughly brings out what is in man, because He brings in God.
They built the charge for a Roman ear. It mixed a lie with something they knew Jesus would not deny:
The wickedness of the chief priests was clear in their accusation. It was designed to arouse the governor's suspicion. It charged Christ with something completely untrue about the tribute. But they mixed it with a foundation of truth they knew Jesus could not deny, because they counted on His truthfulness. This proved their complete and hardened wickedness... The Jews persist in their wrongdoing. They say, "He stirs up the people." They play on the suspicion of a known government toward a known people.
One writer grants the fact behind the charge and corrects its meaning:
Here they changed their ground completely, and charged Him with being a rebel and a rival to Caesar... The accusation, "He stirs up the people," was indeed true. But He stirred them up towards God, and not against Caesar.
Older translations call the region here "Jewry." In the New Testament the name does not always cover the same ground:
In the New Testament the name sometimes refers to a much larger district... Rome divided the land this way, with Samaria in the centre and Galilee in the north... The context will almost always show the extent of the district intended. It is called JEWRY in Luke 23:5; John 7:1.
So the charge covers the whole land, from Galilee in the north down to where they now stand.
The accusers named Galilee to show how widespread the trouble was. Pilate heard something else in it:
The offence happened in Judaea, so Pilate had ground to take up the charge. But their mention of Galilee gave him, he thought, an opening to get rid of the case. Was He a Galilean? If so, they should go to Herod.
Two escape routes now lay before a judge who did not want to judge:
There were two back doors, as it were, open before Pilate. One was Galilee. He heard that Christ was a Galilean. He says, in effect: I will keep my friendship with Caesar and pass Him over to Herod. He belongs to Herod's authority. And here is the Passover coming too. I must release one prisoner then. Shall I set free Barabbas or Jesus?
The complaint did not end at the cross. The same accusation follows those who carry His message:
This is an old accusation, and it always comes from the wrong side. Pontius Pilate could find no fault in Jesus. Even so, the priests and the rulers insisted all the more: "He stirs up the people, teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee even to this place." What do they say against Paul and Silas at Philippi? "These men are Jews, and they are disturbing our city." And at Thessalonica? "These men who have turned the world upside down have come here also."
The advice that follows is simple: keep walking, and remember where such charges come from:
I urge those who are simple not to be uneasy about a political principle or any other. Let them follow calmly and firmly the path in which the Holy Spirit leads them, walking by faith. And let them remember that in the Bible these accusations always come from the enemies of the truth. See how precious the way is in which the word provides for every need of God's children!
- Stirred: the charge was true in fact and false in meaning. He did move the crowds — toward God, not against Caesar.
- Sharpened: the verdict of innocence did not soften the accusers. It made them press harder. Christ brings out what is in man.
- Structured: they shaped their words for a Roman ear. They mixed a lie about the tribute with a claim they knew He would not deny.
- Stretched: "all Judea… from Galilee" covers the whole land, north to south.
- Sidestepped: the word "Galilee" gave Pilate a back door to Herod. It was one of two he tried instead of freeing an innocent man.
But Pilate, having heard Galilee [named], demanded if the man were a Galilaean;
Pilate has just heard that the trouble began in Galilee, and one word in the charge catches his ear. His question sounds like a point of law. It is really a search for a way out.
Pilate had already found nothing to charge Him with. He still did not set Him free.
The Lord stood at Caesar's judgment seat, since the Roman governor represented the emperor... Pilate asked the Lord whether He was the King of the Jews. He admitted it to Pilate. Yet nothing called for a legal ruling, for Pilate told the chief priests and the crowd that he found no fault in this man... The offence was committed in Judaea, and that gave Pilate ground to hear the charge. But their mention of Galilee gave him, he thought, an opening to get rid of the case. Was He a Galilean? If so, they should go to Herod.
The move was politics, not law. It follows a pattern that did not end with Pilate.
Pilate finds himself in what we would call a political dilemma: the crowd is pushing him against the right course of action. As a 'good' politician, he makes a 'clever' political move. When 'Galilee' is mentioned, Pilate at once sees a way of escape... This shows another principle of politics. When a matter is clear, but the right course is unpopular, the matter is either not dealt with at all or passed to someone else. We do have to admit that in some cases a person is not able, or not the right person, to deal with a matter, and so has to pass it on. But the aim should be to handle the matter in the best possible way, not to get rid of an unpopular task.
Matthew and Mark leave this out. Luke alone follows the question through to what it produced.
Before Pilate the Son of Man is accused of misleading the nation and of being an enemy of the Roman government... Luke tells us what Matthew and Mark leave out: that Pilate sent Him to Herod. The silence of the Son of Man as He stood before that wicked king is very solemn. Then Herod and his soldiers mock Him. Herod and Pilate became united in rejecting Christ. See how this fact is used in the first prayer meeting after the church was formed. Acts 4:23-30.
The prisoner comes straight back. Sending Him away settles nothing.
Only in this Gospel do we see the useless effort of poor Pilate to rid himself of responsibility by handing our Lord over to king Herod, who ruled Galilee and so had authority over Him. Herod and his men join in the mockery the Lord meets everywhere, while He, in the meekness of holiness, stays silent through it all. Herod sends Him back to Pilate, who cannot escape responsibility this way.
The escape route ends where it began, and the judge is left with what he tried to avoid.
The man proven guilty of sedition against the government and of murder was released, while He whom the judge declared three times to be without fault was condemned to crucifixion! It seems inevitable that Pilate would be left for the rest of his life with a torturing, burning conscience.
Pilate's question sets up the meeting of two men who could not stand each other, and they part as allies.
Luke records how both he and Herod buried their hostility that day in condemning Him. The same tragedy has often been repeated since. Men of completely different character and outlook have found a point of unity in rejecting Christ. Herod had given himself up to his pleasures and did not care at all. Pilate had some sense of what was right, but he bent with the times and was ready to do wrong for the sake of popularity. Yet here the two agreed.
Another writer asks what it was that brought them together.
If we turn to Luke 23:12 we find that on that same day Pilate and Herod became friends. What were they made friends about? They wanted to put out the light of grace and truth that shone in the Person of the Lord's anointed. That shared wish brought them together and made friends of men who had been enemies.
- One word. "Galilee" was thrown in as an accusation; Pilate heard it as a legal loophole and asked at once whether the prisoner was a Galilean.
- One escape. The offence in Judea was his to judge, but a Galilean belonged to Herod — so the case could be sent away rather than settled.
- One failure. Handing the matter to another court did not remove the responsibility; Jesus came back, and Pilate still had to decide.
- One silence. Before Herod the Lord answered nothing, while a king given over to his own pleasures mocked Him.
- One union. The move ended by making two enemies friends. Nothing joined them but their shared rejection of Christ, and that has happened again and again since.
and having learned that he was of Herod's jurisdiction, remitted him to Herod, who himself also was at Jerusalem in those days.
Pilate has just heard the charge that Jesus stirs up the people "from Galilee even to this place." One word in that charge gives him a way out. Galilee was Herod's territory, and Herod was in Jerusalem at the time. So the governor passed his prisoner on instead of judging him.
The accusers meant "Galilee" as proof that the trouble was widespread. Pilate heard it as a jurisdictional loophole.
Pilate clearly was in no mood to take the accusation seriously. He asked the Lord if He was the King of the Jews. The Lord admitted it to Pilate. Yet there was nothing here that called for his judicial action. Addressing the chief priests and the crowd, he said, "I find no guilt in this man"... so he tried several times, as the history shows, to escape the responsibility of condemning the Lord to death... The offence was committed in Judaea, and that gave Pilate ground to hear the charge. But their mention of Galilee gave him, he thought, an opening to get rid of the case... Yet Pilate gained nothing by it. Herod, with his soldiers, treated Him as nothing, mocked Him, dressed Him in a splendid robe, and sent Him back to the Roman governor. Herod and Pilate became friends, but Pilate's difficulty was in no way lessened.
Pilate had already said the prisoner was innocent. The honest course was release, not transfer. Sending the case to Herod was one of several moves to keep his hands clean. It cost him in the end.
Pilate was not the last who has gone along with what was wrong for the sake of temporary advantage. Such a course may look successful at the time. Very often it turns out anything but happy for the person in the end. Sooner or later, conscience will speak and make itself heard. And the people he tried to please at the expense of righteousness may in the end turn round and attack the one who acted to satisfy them. Pilate found this out... Weak, and afraid of popular opposition or resentment, he yielded against his conscience and better judgement. "The fear of man lays a snare" (Proverbs 29:25).
The verse reads like an administrative detail. In practice, soldiers marched the bound prisoner across the city again, to stand before a cruel king.
Pilate hears He is from Galilee. He tries to escape his difficulty by sending Him to Herod, who happened to be in Jerusalem at this time. Yes, they must heap every possible insult on the Lamb of God. They must lead Him again through the dark streets of Jerusalem to stand before the wicked Herod — the self-indulgent, cruel murderer. And this wicked man was glad, and hoped to have his curiosity satisfied. Not a single word of complaint, even now, escapes the holy lips of Jesus. "He made no answer." Blessed Jesus, may we learn from You!
Pilate wanted the case off his desk. Instead he added a second court — and a second official verdict of innocence, which he later quoted back to the crowd.
First, there is abundant witness that Jesus was faultless. Pilate had said this during the earlier examination (verse 4). Now he repeats it twice (verses 14, 22). He states it a fourth time as Herod's verdict (verse 15). God took care that there should be abundant and official witness to this.
Sending Jesus to Herod put two rival powers on the same side. The first Christians later read that day in the light of Psalm 2.
This alliance in opposition appeared when the Son of God came into the world the first time... The troubled assembly poured out their hearts and reminded God of this psalm (Acts 4:23-31). "For truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel." How solemn! Pilate and Herod, who had been enemies, could bury their hatred and be at one over the rejection of the Son of God... Satan is well able to bring about unity for the carrying out of his dreadful purposes.
Commentators differ on how deep the two men's hostility to Christ went. One writer says it was not hatred at all, but indifference:
They are often described as united by their common hatred of Christ; but hatred is too strong a word. He had not in fact mattered enough to them even to draw out hatred. To them, as to so many, He was just an incident in a day's history. To Pilate an annoying one. To Herod, possible material for amusement that had failed to deliver.
- Loophole. The word "Galilee" gave Pilate someone else to hand the case to. He used it instead of releasing the man he had just called innocent.
- Evasion. Passing a case on is not the same as deciding it. Pilate tried to compromise with his conscience, and the fear of man trapped him.
- Silence. Led once more through the city to a king who wanted entertainment, Jesus made no complaint and no answer.
- Verdict. God overruled the evasion. A second court meant more official witness that Jesus was faultless — stated four times over.
- Alliance. The day ended with enemies made friends over the rejection of Christ. That is the Psalm 2 scene the first believers prayed through in Acts 4.
And when Herod saw Jesus he greatly rejoiced, for he had been a long while desirous of seeing him, because of hearing many things concerning him, and he hoped to see some sign done by him;
Pilate wanted to be rid of an awkward case, so he sent Jesus to Herod, and Herod was delighted — though what he wanted was a show. So what happens to a man who is glad to see Christ but has no need of Him?
Herod's wish was old, and he had heard plenty about Jesus. But one thing was missing.
He wished to see the One who could raise the dead, cleanse the leper, and give sight to the blind. But there was no sense of need in Herod's soul. He did not know that it was far better to see the Saviour Himself than to see any miracle performed by Him.
Herod had not always been so relaxed about Jesus. He had beheaded John the Baptist, and news of Jesus once unsettled him.
You see in him the first movements of terror and fear and slavish horror when his sins have found him out. But notice what happens afterwards — how all that is lulled into quiet and into rest. And then what takes its place? Curiosity! First fear; and when fear is drugged or rocked to sleep in the devil's cradle, then curiosity. There is so much curiosity today! Men who were once afraid are now curious.
Herod hoped for a sign. That hope showed what he took Jesus to be — not someone to trust, but a talent to sample.
Herod has got over his fear of Christ and is glad of the chance to see Him, hoping even to see Him do some "sign" in his presence. His evil course had hardened his conscience more and more. He clearly sees the Lord as nothing but a magician, like Simon the sorcerer in Samaria later on. Such a man would be sure to take the chance to impress an audience like this with proofs of his power.
This demand was not new. Jesus had met it before, and from a worse source.
We should note the difference between miracles and magic. Our Lord and His disciples worked miracles and exposed magic... Herod looked for a display of that sort, some sensational feat (Luke 23:8), and here the devil suggests the same thing.
Herod questioned Jesus and got nothing back. Still, he saw something — not what he had asked for.
He does find a sign, though not the one he looked for. He finds a Man silent and unmoved. Jesus answers nothing to his questions, and nothing to the chief priests and scribes, who accuse Him fiercely for fear of the effect on Herod. There is not even a word of warning or rebuke, only that unbroken silence, so much more terrible.
The silence is not neutral. Jesus answered Pilate and Caiaphas. Herod alone got no word.
It is a terrible thing for God to be silent. It is better that He should be speaking to us by chastenings. "O LORD... be not deaf to me, lest, if you be silent to me, I become like those who go down to the pit" (Psalm 28:1). The silence of God is as if you put a man into a pit. "Ephraim is joined to idols; leave him alone" (Hosea 4:17). The dealings between Herod and the Lord illustrate this.
The wish began in fear, and the silence will not last.
He hears people speak of Jesus and His miracles. "John, whom I beheaded, has been raised," he says. He seeks to see Jesus because he wants to be rid of that vague terror — the fear of meeting again the man he had put to death. But the uncertainty stays. When at last Herod sees the Saviour, he can neither see His miracles nor hear Him. He meets on earth a silent Christ, whose voice he will not hear until later, when he will see Him as Judge.
This hearing left its mark on two men, not one.
In Luke 23 Jesus stands not only before Pilate, but before Herod. The two men had hated each other until now. Here they are reconciled, once it is a question of rejecting Jesus. It is only Luke who gives us this touch. What a league of peace over the rejection of the Saviour!
- Fear fades. Herod once trembled over John's death. Then the devil rocked that alarm to sleep, and curiosity took its place.
- Curiosity asks. He wanted a sign, not a Saviour — no sense of need, and no idea that seeing Christ Himself was worth more than any miracle.
- Curiosity misjudges. A hardened conscience saw only a magician, and wanted the same display the devil had once suggested.
- Curiosity gets silence. Herod did receive a sign — a Man who answered nothing, not even a rebuke, which is the most solemn answer of all.
- Silence ends in judgment. The voice he refused on earth he will hear from the Judge. His one gain that day was a friendship with Pilate, sealed over the rejection of Christ.
and he questioned him in many words, but *he* answered him nothing.
Herod had Jesus standing in front of him at last, and he filled the room with questions. He got no answer at all. Commentators read that silence as a judgment heavier than any word.
Herod's questions came from curiosity, not from any sense of his own need.
He wished to see the One who could raise the dead, cleanse the leper, and give sight to the blind; but there was no sense of need in Herod's soul. He did not know that it was far better to see the Saviour Himself than to see any miracle performed by Him. He sees Jesus, he questions Him, but notice the dignity of the Lord: He answers the usurper nothing.
Herod kept at it, and got nowhere.
The Lord stayed completely silent, despite the many questions Herod asked Him. What a sight! The questioning king probably shifted his questions in every direction, hoping to get some answer.
Herod hoped for a miracle. He got a sign of a different kind.
He does find a sign, but not the one he had looked for. He finds a Man silent and unmoved. This Man answers nothing to his questions, and nothing to the accusations of the chief priests and scribes, who accuse Him fiercely because they fear the effect on Herod. There is not even a word of warning or rebuke, but only that unbroken silence, so much more terrible.
Jesus was not silent through the whole trial. He spoke to the Roman governor Pilate, and He spoke to Caiaphas the high priest. Herod alone got nothing.
Herod was wicked through and through. He did answer Pilate, because there was no hatred in Pilate's heart. He answered Caiaphas for the sake of the oath of God, by which he put Him under oath (Matt. 26:63); but as for Herod, He has not a word for him. He passes from before him without opening His mouth. It is a terrible thing for God to be silent. It is better that He should be speaking to us through discipline. "Do not be deaf to me, lest, if you are silent to me, I become like those who go down to the pit" (Ps. 28:1). The silence of God is as if you put a man into a pit. "Ephraim is joined to idols; leave him alone" (Hosea 4:17).
The silence did two things at once.
The silence of the Lord was a very solemn condemnation of Herod. At the same time it gave the fullest opportunity for the rude insolence of his followers and of the accusers.
One writer links this silence to Isaiah 53 and notes how unnatural it is.
Isaiah 53:7 emphasises His silence before His accusers. When men are oppressed and treated wrongly, protest is natural and usual. So His silence went against all experience. The Gospels note it — Matthew 27:11-14; Mark 15:3-4; Luke 23:9; John 19:9. A sheep really is silent before the shearers, as anyone can see today by standing and watching them at work. But He was not like a sheep under the shears. He was like a lamb led to the slaughter. He was indeed "the Lamb of God," as John the Baptist proclaimed, yet no word of protest escaped His lips.
Christ's silence is not only something to admire. One writer sets it out as steps for us to walk in.
If we are called to be with Christ in glory, we are also called to follow His steps on the way there. The Apostle gives us three of His steps. First, He did no sin, and there was no deceit in His mouth. Second, He suffered: He was insulted and threatened. Third, when He was insulted, He took it patiently; He did not insult back, and He did not threaten. In the presence of all His accusers His resource was in God. He committed Himself to Him who judges righteously. When falsely accused before the Jewish council, He "remained silent" (Matthew 26:63). When the Jews accused Him in front of Pilate, "He gave no answer." To Pilate himself He "gave no answer, not even to a single charge" (Matt. 27:12-14). The mocking Herod questioned Him at some length, "but He made no answer" (Luke 23:9). He was silent before men because He had a resource in God.
- Curiosity. Herod wanted a miracle, not a Saviour. He had no sense of need, and he got no answer.
- Sign. He did get a sign — an unmoved Man who would not speak. No warning, no rebuke, only unbroken silence, and that made it worse.
- Selective. Christ answered Pilate and Caiaphas but not Herod; commentators read this as the mark of a heart set in hatred.
- Sentence. Silence from God is itself a verdict — worse than discipline, like being left alone in a pit.
- Steps. His silence rested on His resource in God, and we are called to follow His steps: when insulted, take it patiently and do not insult back.
And the chief priests and the scribes stood and accused him violently.
Pilate has sent Jesus to Herod, and the chief priests and scribes follow Him there to press their charges. Why do accusers who already have the upper hand need to shout so loudly?
The accusers are not Rome's officials. They are Israel's religious leaders, and one commentator sees a pattern in that: the civil power follows where religion leads.
Religious evil now only had to lead the world on to finish the wickedness in which it had led the way. The civil power must give in to the wilful evil of God's people, who had turned away from Him. This is the history of the world, and of the two, the religious side is always nearest to Satan. The chief priests showed their enmity by their accusation. It was designed to stir up the jealousy of the governor. They charged Christ with something entirely false about Caesar, but they built it on a subtle groundwork of what they knew He could not deny, because they counted on His truthfulness.
Herod was hoping for a sign, not a conviction. The accusers feared what he might do, and that fear explains the heat in their voices:
He does find a sign, though not the one he was looking for: a Man silent and unmoved. He answers nothing to his questions, and nothing to the accusations of the chief priests and scribes. They accuse Him violently because they are afraid of the effect on Herod. There is not even a word of warning or rebuke, only that unbroken silence, so much more terrible.
Their charge was political, and it was false. One writer traces how their words escalate:
Then we see the poison of snakes in the Jew. With false witnesses and false words they slander the Lord, and try to poison Pilate's mind against Him. They said, "We found this man misleading our nation and forbidding us to give tribute to Caesar." From slander they move to cursing and bitterness. We read, "The chief priests and the scribes stood by, vehemently accusing Him." And it is only a short journey they take from anger to murder, for they said, "Let him be crucified."
Against all this noise, Jesus says nothing. One writer points out that Jesus answered His other judges, but not this one:
So Pilate sent Him to Herod, and before Herod He never spoke a word. Herod was wicked through and through. He did answer Pilate, because there was no enmity in his heart. He answered Caiaphas for the sake of God's oath, when Caiaphas put Him under oath (Matt. 26:63); but for Herod He has not a word. He passes from in front of him without opening His mouth. It is a terrible thing for God to be silent. It is better that He should speak to us through discipline. The silence of God is like putting a man into a pit.
Another writer notes the effect His refusal to answer had on the court, and its cost to Him:
Here again the chief priests and scribes vehemently accused Him. But Jesus answered nothing in the presence of that wicked man, whom He had earlier called "that fox." His dignified silence only moved Herod and his soldiers to drop all pretence of justice. They sank to mockery and ridicule.
Herod's mockery went a step further. One commentator sees God turning that insult into testimony:
Let us notice here how God overruled all the malice and mockery of men. He turned it into the fulfilment of prophecy and a testimony to His Son — the very opposite of what they intended… In Herod's palace He wore a "gorgeous" (white or shining) robe, and it testified to His sinless character. The priests and scribes who had followed might stand and "vehemently accuse" Him. He stood in front of them wearing what spoke of perfect innocence.
- Lead — the accusers are the religious leaders, not Rome. The civil power only follows where they lead.
- Fear — they accuse Him violently because they are afraid of what Herod might do.
- Slide — the same tongues move from slander, to cursing and bitterness, to "Let him be crucified." It is a short road from anger to murder.
- Silence — He answered Caiaphas and He answered Pilate. To Herod He gives not one word, and God's silence is the most terrible reply of all.
- Reversal — God turned the mocking robe into a witness. While they stood accusing, He stood dressed in what spoke of perfect innocence.
And Herod with his troops having set him at nought and mocked him, having put a splendid robe upon him, sent him back to Pilate.
Pilate has sent the prisoner on to Herod. The ruler who long wanted to see Jesus now has Him standing silent in front of him. What Herod does with that silence — contempt, a robe, and a return delivery to Pilate — says more about the men judging Christ than any verdict could.
The word Luke uses for Herod's treatment of Jesus turns up elsewhere in the New Testament. One writer traces it through the Gospels and Acts:
He was "treated with contempt" by men (Mark 9:12), by Herod's soldiers (Luke 23:11), and by the religious leaders in Acts 4:11. The verb here means "utterly worthless" — contemptible! So man, who seeks his own glory, has no appreciation of the One whose every motive, every word and every action had the glory of God in view.
Herod had hoped for a miracle to entertain him. Instead he met a silence he could not break:
He does find a sign, but not the one he looked for: a Man silent and unmoved. He answers nothing to Herod's questions. He answers nothing to the chief priests and scribes, who accuse Him fiercely, afraid of the effect on Herod. There is not even a word of warning or rebuke — only that unbroken silence, which is far more terrible.
The splendid clothing was not a gift. The same writer reads the robe and the return trip as one gesture of mockery:
The unhappy man answers it only with mockery. He dresses Him in a brilliant robe, perhaps the robe of a candidate for honours. Then he sends the Lord back to Pilate, as if to suggest that such claims as these deserved no serious attention.
One writer points out where those mock honours will end:
Herod's troops mock the Son of Man by putting a shining or "splendid robe" on Him, in the Gospel that shows Him as the perfect Man (Luke 23:11). Then they send Him back to Pilate… His sinful creatures put royal, imperial and universal honours on the rejected Messiah in mockery. But God will see to it that those honours shall one day be truly His.
Herod had met a prophet before. One writer sets his treatment of John the Baptist beside his treatment of Jesus:
Herod was a man of extreme but shallow feeling. He was happy to hear John, though the prophet condemned the sin he was guilty of… When Pilate sent Jesus to Herod he was glad, "very glad," to see Him (Luke 23:8). But that meeting only showed the hard cruelty of his nature… For all his sorrow, Herod killed the servant in Galilee. For all his gladness, he mocked the Master at Jerusalem.
The verse ends with Jesus sent back to Pilate. One writer follows what happened between the two rulers next:
The silence of the Lord was a very solemn condemnation of Herod. At the same time it gave full room for the rude insolence of Herod's followers and of the accusers… The Spirit of God does not fail to notice the strange moral character of what happened here. There had been a feud between the Governor and the King. But "Pilate and Herod became friends with one another that very day, for before this they had been enemies." So Satan works to unite the world against Christ, as the grace of God unites people by Him and for Him.
The mockery is not the last word on His clothing. One writer looks ahead to the day God honours Him in public:
Praise God, the One once refused, despised and crucified will yet wear the royal robe of glory… He once wore the mocking robe and the cruel crown. He will be welcomed with praise when God sets Him forth with the crown of pure gold on His matchless brow. "He shall bear the glory, and shall sit and rule upon His throne" (Zechariah 6:13).
- Worthless — the word for Herod's treatment means "utterly worthless." Man seeks his own glory, so he has no eye for the One who lived for God's glory.
- Silence — Herod wanted a miracle. He got a sign he never asked for: a Man unmoved, with not even a rebuke, only unbroken silence.
- Robe — the splendid garment was Herod's verdict. He dressed Jesus as a candidate for honours, to say such claims deserved no serious hearing.
- Character — the man who was happy to hear John still killed him. The man glad to see Jesus still mocked Him. Strong feeling changed nothing.
- Reversal — Satan unites enemies against Christ. But the One dressed in the mocking robe will wear the royal robe of glory and rule upon His throne.
And Pilate and Herod became friends with one another the same day, for they had been at enmity before between themselves.
Two rulers who had been enemies became friends on the day they both had Jesus in their hands. What kind of peace grows out of rejecting the Son of God?
One commentator weighs what kind of peace this was.
In Luke 23 Jesus is found not before Pilate only, but Herod; and the two men who up to then hated each other are here reconciled, now that it is a question of rejecting Jesus. It is only Luke who gives us this touch. What a league of peace over the rejection of the Saviour!
The Bible never says what had divided them. One writer passes on a guess others had made: Pilate had interfered with people under Herod's rule.
The Galileans were Herod's subjects (Luke 3:1). It has therefore been supposed that this interference by Pilate caused the quarrel between him and Herod, which we read of in Luke 23:12.
One writer sets this new friendship beside the union God is building.
The Spirit of God does not fail to notice here the moral peculiarity of the transaction. There had been a feud between the Governor and the King. But now "Herod and Pilate became friends with each other that very day, for before this they had been at enmity with each other." So Satan builds his union in the world against Christ, while the grace of God builds its union by Him and for Him.
Herod and Pilate were nothing alike, and one commentator says the same pattern keeps returning.
Luke puts on record how both he and Herod buried their enmity that day in condemning Him. The same tragedy has often been repeated since. Men of completely different character and outlook have found a point of unity in their rejection of Christ. Herod was given over to his pleasures and utterly indifferent. Pilate, though he had some sense of what was right, served the moment and so was ready to do wrong for the sake of popularity. But they came to an agreement here.
Commentators differ on what these two men actually felt about Christ.
They are often described as united by their shared hatred of Christ; but hatred is too strong a word. He had not in fact meant enough to them even to draw out hatred. He was to them, as He is to so many, only an incident in a day's history. To Pilate He was an annoying one. To Herod He was possible material for amusement, and it had failed to deliver. Their friendships were probably much less real than their quarrels.
Believers in Acts later prayed about this alliance and found it written long before.
The Spirit asks, "Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain? The kings of the earth set themselves, and the rulers take counsel together, against the LORD and against His Anointed" (Psalm 2:1-2). This alliance in opposition appeared when the Son of God came into the world the first time... The distressed gathering reminded God of this psalm in their remarkable outpouring of heart in Acts 4:23-31: "For truly in this city there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel." How solemn! Pilate and Herod, who had been enemies, could bury their hatred and be at one over the rejection of the Son of God... Satan is well able to produce unity for the carrying out of his dreadful purposes.
One writer sees the same combination forming whenever the real Christ appears.
The world has power to combine very different elements when an unworldly Christ stands out as a common enemy. Herod and Pilate were made friends together. There may be the secular and the religious, even the unbeliever and the superstitious. But let an unworldly Christ appear, and they will all challenge Him as the object of their common hatred.
One writer follows this new friendship past the day it was made.
That day they were made friends over the settled slaughter of the Son of God! Dreadful thought!... Those two newly made friends will find themselves side by side through a long, endless eternity. And where? Do not spend your eternity with those who murdered the Son of God.
- Cause. Christ was the one point Pilate and Herod could agree on, and the agreement was to be rid of Him.
- Combination. Satan builds his unions against Christ; the grace of God builds its union through Him and for Him.
- Contrast. The two men shared no character, no outlook, no interest — only their treatment of Jesus. Commentators differ on whether that was hatred or cold indifference.
- Confirmation. Acts 4 reads this alliance as Psalm 2 coming true: kings gathered against the Lord's anointed.
- Consequence. Friendships formed over the rejection of Christ hold, past this life into the next. Choose your company accordingly.
And Pilate, having called together the chief priests and the rulers and the people,
Herod has sent Jesus back, so the case is Pilate's again. He brings the priests, the rulers and the crowd together, declares Jesus innocent, and then hands Him over anyway.
Pilate tells the accusers to their faces that their case has failed. One writer weighs that moment against Rome's reputation for justice.
Such was the boasted fairness of the Roman empire, of man. There was no doubt about the innocence of Jesus. The charges of the people had been proved false. The hardened judge could not condemn Him; justice required he acquit Him. He was willing to concede something to please the people, but he was eager to release the Prisoner.
Three groups stand before Pilate, and Herod has already had his turn. One writer finds all of humanity on display in this chapter, and begins with the governor.
There are in this chapter three great instances of the condition in which men are found today. There is Pilate, there is Herod, and there are the Jews. Now, I find mankind classed under these three heads, and it all comes out here in each of them. Look at Pilate for a moment. He was said to be a cruel man; but, as far as we know, he had no hatred of Christ. On the contrary, he would have released Him if he could. Certain things moved that man. His natural conscience was uneasy; he was not at rest. His wife's dream troubled him. He had the conviction as a judge, "That is an innocent Man. He is not guilty of the crimes laid to His charge."
Pilate knew what was really driving the case. He had already given his finding once. Now he adds Herod's opinion to his own — and then undercuts both.
The accusers' charge that the Lord Jesus was misleading the people came purely from envy, as Pilate knew well (Matthew 27:18). In speaking to the chief priests and rulers he plainly declared that he found no fault in Him. To this he added that Herod could find no reason to condemn Him. This was the second time Pilate spoke so plainly on this point. The issue was therefore perfectly clear: justice must release Him. Yet Pilate tried a compromise. He made the unjust suggestion that he would have Him whipped before letting Him go. He thought this lesser judgment might satisfy the Jews. By this dishonourable means he was himself weaving the net in which the Jews snared him.
Pilate's next move was not the verdict the evidence called for. It was a deal.
His conclusion, however, must surprise any fair observer: "I will therefore punish and release him" (v. 16). This verdict aimed to serve Pilate's goals and the crowd's at the same time... In one word, Pilate's proposal was based on the principle of compromise. Again, the Christian can see one of the marks of politics here. When people are ready to compromise their principles, they will soon fall back on the principle of compromise.
Does saying the right thing in public lighten Pilate's guilt? One writer says the opposite.
There was no excuse for Pilate any more than for the leaders of Israel; all were guilty of condemning the innocent One. Pilate knew what he was doing, for three times over he declared Jesus to be guiltless. Yet he had the nerve to wash his hands before the mob and say, "I am innocent of this man's blood" (Matthew 27:24). How could he be innocent of His blood when he scourged Jesus and gave Him over to the will of those who cried for His blood?
Pilate's problem was never a shortage of evidence. It was a competing loyalty — and one writer turns that straight on the reader.
Are there not many people here in the same moral position as Pilate? Your conscience touches you; you would like to be on the side of the Lord Jesus Christ... but then there is the world; you cannot give up the world... They cannot give up their Caesar. "If you release this man, you are not Caesar's friend" (John 19:12). The moment Pilate heard that word, the die was cast.
- Assembled: Pilate calls priests, rulers and people together. Every level of the nation hears his findings.
- Acquitted: The charges were false, and Pilate knew it. Justice required release, not a sentence.
- Compromised: Instead of acting on his verdict, Pilate offers to whip an innocent man to please the crowd. That dishonourable move traps him.
- Exposed: This chapter puts all of humanity on show: Pilate with his uneasy conscience, Herod, and the crowd who accused Jesus.
- Decided: Knowing better is no defence. Pilate could not give up his Caesar. The question for every reader is whether we can give up ours.
said to them, Ye have brought to me this man as turning away the people [to rebellion], and behold, I, having examined him before you, have found nothing criminal in this man as to the things of which ye accuse him;
Pilate calls the chief priests, the rulers, and the people together, and repeats their charge that Jesus was misleading the people. His own examination found nothing, so this verse is a judge's formal acquittal — and the whole chapter that follows sits in its shadow.
The charge Pilate is answering had a true fact inside it. One commentator shows where the lie was hidden:
There was a measure of truth in what they said, and yet it was false in the way it was presented. There are many words spoken in this world that are true, which are pressed into the service of falsehood. How often a person tells the truth to hide the truth! It was perfectly true that Christ was a King... Their aim was to put forward His royal titles and glories as if He were claiming them to overthrow the power of Rome.
Pilate does not say this only once. One writer counts how often the verdict comes, and sees God's hand in it:
First of all, there is abundant witness that Jesus was faultless. Pilate had said this at the earlier examination (verse 4). Now he repeats it twice (verses 14, 22). He states it a fourth time as Herod's verdict (verse 15). God took care that there should be abundant and official witness to this.
An acquittal leaves a judge only one lawful step. One writer measures Rome's boasted fairness against what Pilate did next:
Such was the boasted fairness of the Roman empire, of man. There was no doubt of the innocence of Jesus. The charges of the people had been proved to be false. The hardened judge could not condemn, but had to acquit as a matter of justice.
The acquittal never turned into release. Two parties share the blame:
Pilate passed the death sentence while saying he found no fault in our Lord. That made the Gentiles guilty. The Jews who shouted for His death made the Jews guilty.
Pilate was no enemy of Jesus, and he knew the prisoner was innocent. One writer asks why he handed Him over anyway:
Look at Pilate for a moment. He was said to be a cruel man; but, as far as we know, he had no hatred of Christ. On the contrary, he would have released Him if he could. Certain things moved that man. His natural conscience was uneasy; he was not at rest... He had the conviction as a judge, "That is an innocent Man. He is not guilty of the crimes laid to His charge." All these things acted on his conscience... How clearly the evidence left him without excuse, that at his bar stood One without guilt... Why could he not follow his natural conscience? Why not decide in favour of the Lord Jesus Christ, and free Him as One in whom there was no blame? Why not? Because Pilate could not afford to give up his friendship with the world.
The same writer turns Pilate's position into a question for the reader. Wanting to be on Christ's side is not the same as being there:
Are there not many people here in the same moral position as Pilate? Your conscience touches you; you would like to be on the side of the Lord Jesus Christ... you would like to stand up for Him, would like to be His friend. But then there is the world. You cannot give up the world; you cannot break with it... They cannot give up their Caesar.
One writer reads the scene against the old rule for sacrifices. Pilate's finding then joins a long line of unlikely witnesses:
The Jews had to search carefully for their sacrifices, to find animals without blemish or spot... for only such could picture the Holy One of God, who was holy, harmless, and undefiled... Wicked Pilate declared again and again before all the people that he found "no guilt in Him." The self-convicted traitor said he had "betrayed innocent blood."... The thief on the cross, dying beside Him, cried, "This man has done nothing wrong." So all beings in heaven and on earth — angels, men, demons, saints, sinners, Jews, Gentiles — have borne witness that He was "without spot or blemish."
- Charge — they took a true thing, His kingship, and bent it into a lie — that He was claiming a throne to topple Rome.
- Examination — Pilate tested the charge in public and it collapsed. His innocence was not assumed. It was proved.
- Witness — the "no guilt" verdict comes four times in this chapter. God saw to it that the record was full and official.
- Verdict — justice left one step, release. Pilate refused it and made the Gentiles guilty. The crowd's cry made the Jews guilty.
- Lamb — the judge, the traitor, the dying thief and the angels all say one thing. The Sacrifice was without spot or blemish.
nor Herod either, for I remitted you to him, and behold, nothing worthy of death is done by him.
Luke alone tells us that Jesus stood before Herod as well as Pilate. Here Pilate quotes Herod's verdict back to the crowd — so why did a man cleared by both rulers still end up on a cross?
Pilate does not give this verdict only once. One writer counts the times:
In the first place, there is abundant witness that Jesus was faultless. Pilate had said this during the earlier examination (verse 4). Now he repeats it twice (verses 14, 22), and states it a fourth time as Herod's verdict (verse 15). God took care that there should be abundant and official witness to this.
Justice left Pilate no other verdict. Yet he still wanted to please the crowd:
There was no doubt of the innocence of Jesus. The charges of the people had proved false. The hardened judge could not condemn Him. Justice required him to acquit. He was willing to concede something to please the people, but he was anxious to release the Prisoner.
Pilate had sent Jesus to Herod to get the case off his own desk. He did not escape. The move only drew more men together against Christ:
The sending to Herod is set before us. So we see all men fully united against the rightful Lord of the world — the Christ. It is a solemn but all too natural picture: opposition to Christ unites those who in their personal interests and passions were otherwise enemies. They can compliment each other while treating Christ this way. No doubt Pilate hoped to quiet a troubled conscience by throwing the matter onto Herod, or to avoid the guilt. But so it was to be. Men cannot escape the fruit of their own wickedness that way.
That shared hostility even made the two rulers friends:
In Luke 23 Jesus stands not only before Pilate, but before Herod. The two men had hated each other until then. Here they are reconciled, now that it is a question of rejecting Jesus. It is only Luke who gives us this touch. What a league of peace over the rejection of the Saviour!
Pilate's very next words still propose punishment. One writer names the principle behind that:
He repeats his own evidence, that he had "found no guilt in this man" (v. 14). He then tries to strengthen his case by citing Herod's judgement (v. 15). But his conclusion must surprise any fair observer: "I will therefore punish and release him" (v. 16)… In one word, Pilate built his proposal on the principle of compromise. Here the Christian can see one of the marks of politics. When people are ready to compromise their principles, they will soon fall back on the principle of compromise.
Pilate would not act on his own finding. The result turned justice upside down:
The man proven guilty of rebellion against the government and of murder went free. The One whom the judge had three times declared faultless was condemned to crucifixion! Surely Pilate carried a torturing, burning conscience for the rest of his life.
Rome held all the power in that room. Power was not what that court lacked:
How sad! Here was the judge and governor of the proudest nation on earth, with his own subjects standing before him. Yet he lacked the moral courage to do what he knew was right! It shows us that what the world needs is not so much power as moral uprightness.
Nothing in Jesus called for death. So His death must have a cause outside Himself:
You and I die because we are sinful men, whereas Christ became a man in order that He might die. You and I had to die; He had not. On Him death had no claim whatever… His very foes had to confess His excellence and spotlessness. Herod found nothing worthy of death in Him. Pilate had to declare, "I find no guilt in him." The dying thief said to his neighbour, "This man has done nothing wrong."… You and I were sinners under sentence of death. But in grace the Lord Jesus Christ stepped in and died in the place of those who were guilty and lost.
- Fourfold — Pilate calls Jesus faultless in verse 4, and again in verses 14 and 22. Here he adds Herod's verdict as a fourth witness.
- Deliberate — the repetition is no accident. God made sure the innocence of Jesus had full and official testimony.
- United — Luke alone records the trip to Herod. Enemies became friends over rejecting Christ, and Pilate still kept his guilt.
- Compromised — Pilate quotes two acquittals, then offers to punish Jesus anyway. That is a man trading principle for peace with the crowd.
- Substituted — nothing in Him deserved death, so the cross was never His own debt. The guilty man went free, and the faultless One died in his place.
Having chastised him therefore, I will release him.
Pilate has just declared Jesus not guilty. Now he promises a whipping before release — punishment for a man he has cleared, and a picture of a conscience that knows what is right and still bargains it away.
One writer puts the sentence into modern courtroom terms:
Whatever excuse we may find for Pilate, his decision was wickedly callous and brutally unjust. It was as though a judge in a modern criminal court said: the prisoner is completely innocent of the crime. I will therefore sentence him to twenty strokes of the whip.
Another commentator weighs the famous Roman justice by it:
This was the boasted fairness of the Roman empire, and of man. There was no doubt that Jesus was innocent. The people's charges had proved to be made up. The hardened judge could not condemn Him; justice required him to acquit.
Why would a judge make such an offer? One commentator takes it apart:
This verdict was designed to serve Pilate's aims and the crowd's aims at the same time. On the one hand, it would let Pilate release Jesus, as he knew he should. On the other hand, it would satisfy the crowd by treating the Lord as guilty in two ways. First, He would be chastised — which meant the cruel procedure of scourging (John 19:1). Second, He would be released, not because He was innocent, but because Pilate had to release a criminal(!) at the feast (v. 17)... In a word, Pilate's proposal rested on the principle of compromise. Again, Christians can see one of the marks of politics: when people are ready to compromise their principles, they will soon make compromise itself their principle.
Pilate still had a clear path open to him. His compromise closed it:
So the issue was perfectly clear: justice had to release Him. Yet Pilate tried a compromise. He made the unjust suggestion that he would chastise (lash) Him before letting Him go. He thought this lighter punishment might satisfy the Jews. By this dishonorable move he was weaving the very net the Jews caught him in.
The same compromise went deeper than the sentence. It reached his conscience:
In that case his only duty was to release Him. But instead of giving way to his conscience, he tries to strike a bargain with it. Looking for what looks to him like a way out of a hard situation, he puts the whole matter into the people's hands. So he makes it almost impossible to return to the path of righteousness he has left.
So what was holding him back? One writer looks at the man, not the trial:
How instructive it is to watch the inner struggle of souls in different conditions! Nothing is more striking than the story of Pilate. He had no enmity against Christ. He would have discharged Him if he could at the same time have preserved his character in the world.
Pilate had all the power he needed:
How sad that the judge and governor of the proudest nation on earth lacked the moral courage to do what he knew was right! His own subjects stood in front of him. It shows us that what the world needs is not so much power as moral uprightness.
The threatened punishment was carried out (John 19:1), and it bought nothing:
He would now try another way out of his position, if he could. He would scourge the Lord — an unlawful act against a man who was innocent and uncondemned... Gentile hands carried out this punishment, and we have not a word, not a protest, from the Lord... The Lord submitted to it. He had foretold it. He endured it. But would that scourging help to get Him released?
Pilate was not the only one to call Him innocent:
Judas the traitor said, "I have sinned by betraying innocent blood." Pilate the judge said, "See, I am bringing him out to you that you may know that I find no guilt in him"... The dying thief said, "this man has done nothing wrong," and the centurion who carried out the execution exclaimed, "Certainly this man was innocent!"
(Older translations read the centurion's words as "Certainly this was a righteous Man.")
- Verdict — Pilate found no guilt. Justice then required release, not a whipping.
- Compromise — the offer to chastise and release was built to please both sides at once. Bend a principle once, and compromise itself becomes the rule.
- Trap — the half-measure gave Pilate no escape. It was the net he was caught in, and it made turning back almost impossible.
- Motive — he had no hatred of Christ. He wanted to free Him and keep his reputation too, and he lacked the moral courage to do what he knew was right.
- Witness — the scourging never won the release it promised. The judge's own verdict still stands as testimony that the Lord was without fault.
( Now he was obliged to release one for them at the feast.)
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
But they cried out in a mass saying, Away with this [man] and release Barabbas to us;
Pilate tried a compromise instead of justice, and the crowd answered with one roar. Two men stood side by side — one a murderer, one who had done nothing wrong — and the crowd asked for the murderer.
The demand for Barabbas grew out of a Passover custom. A judge with no case against the prisoner should never have used it.
The issue was clear: justice had to release Him. Yet Pilate tried a compromise. He made the unjust suggestion that he would whip Jesus before letting Him go. He thought this lesser punishment might satisfy the Jews. By this dishonourable means he was weaving the net that the Jews caught him in. Then he brought another unjust principle into the trial. It was the Roman custom to release one prisoner at the Passover, and the Jews were allowed to choose which one (John 18:39). This practice assumed the prisoner was guilty, so the custom should never have applied to the Lord Jesus.
The custom itself looked back to a rescue.
It helps to know that this custom was a way of remembering how God stepped in for the nation. Each year one prisoner was set free, as a reminder that God had set Israel free long ago.
Luke names the man the crowd wanted. Other Gospels fill in what kind of man he was.
John 18:40 calls him a "robber," and Matthew 27:16-26 calls him "a notorious prisoner." He had started a revolt and had committed murder (Mark 15:7-15). Yet the Jews, led by the chief priests and elders, asked for this man, not the Lord Jesus. Why they asked for this particular prisoner is not known. But their choice shows their ungodliness in the clearest way. They preferred such a notoriously wicked man to the Lord of life and glory, their Messiah. Peter made sure to charge this home to the Jews: "You denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you" (Acts 3:14).
Put the two men side by side and the contrast runs deeper than good against bad. It is a clash of two wills.
In Barabbas we have a most striking picture of man's will; in Jesus the perfect expression of God's. Barabbas pushed his own will through without scruple, whatever it cost others. He defied authority (sedition), plundered property (robbery), and took life (murder). Jesus carried out God's will. But all the cost was His own, and the eternal gain is ours… The world's choice was not the gracious Giver who would lay down His life for others. It was the notable robber who could take life itself to reach his selfish ends… "Not this man, but Barabbas!" was the cry. Terrible decision, but the reason is clear. The will of God was this Man's delight, and bringing in God's will meant displacing man's.
Barabbas walked away with something he had not earned. Commentators read his release as a picture of what the cross does.
Barabbas was released, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. Once released, Barabbas might have gone out, looked up at Him who hung on the cross, and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a wonderful illustration of the atonement.
The exchange can be seen in the wood itself.
The cross that should have been for Barabbas was used for Jesus! There was plenty of wood to make Jesus a cross of His own. But He who had done nothing wrong was crucified on the cross meant for Barabbas, the murderer!
The crowd thought the choice was theirs. Another hand was at work behind their shout.
The people made a fateful choice: Barabbas — Satan's counterfeit "son of the father." Their choice confirms their guilt. But there is another side. God watches over the scene. He makes sure that His Son is not released as a guilty criminal who has been pardoned, but is condemned while innocent.
Commentators do not leave this scene in the past. They turn the crowd's cry into a question for the reader.
The world cannot do without its religion… but they do not want Christ; they will not have Christ. They want happiness without Him. Forms and ceremonies are an advantage to them… but Christ is not wanted, and He is not welcome. "Not this man, but Barabbas." … You have your Barabbas in some shape or form. It is the very contrast to Jesus Christ, the very opposite of Him.
- The custom. The Passover release assumed the prisoner was guilty. It should never have touched Jesus, but Pilate's compromise trapped him.
- The choice. A murderer and the Lord of glory stood side by side. The people asked for the murderer, and Peter charged that choice home to them.
- The exchange. Barabbas was guilty and condemned, yet he went free. Jesus took his place — an illustration of the atonement.
- The cross. The cross prepared for the murderer carried the One who had done nothing wrong.
- The echo. The cry is still heard. A world that keeps its religion but refuses Christ says the same words in a new form.
who was one who, for a certain tumult which had taken place in the city, and [for] murder, had been cast into prison.
Luke stops in the middle of the trial to name the crimes of the man the crowd wanted set free. The detail matters. It sets the freed prisoner beside the condemned One, and it asks what that choice says about the people who made it.
Luke and Mark give the charges Matthew leaves out. One writer looks at the man's name and at his record, and finds an irony in the word "insurrection". The leaders had invented that charge against Jesus. Barabbas had really done it.
At that time they had a prisoner of a notable kind, suited in every way for comparison and contrast with the spotless Victim now before them. His name says it at once: Barabbas means "son of the father." Mark and Luke add that he had been thrown into prison for sedition; so he had actually committed the crime they were falsely charging against Jesus. On top of that, he was a robber and a murderer. So it would seem impossible for the people to choose Barabbas. And now Pilate wanted to know whether he should release this notorious criminal or "Jesus who is called Christ."
One commentator reads the three charges as a picture of man's will. He sets it beside the will that Jesus carried out.
In Barabbas we have a striking picture of man's will; in Jesus the perfect expression of God's. Barabbas carried out his own will with ruthless determination, no matter what it cost others. He defied authority (sedition), plundered property (robbery), and took life (murder). Jesus carried out God's will. But all the cost was His own, and the eternal gain is ours.
The release took place at Passover, the feast that remembered God's rescue of Israel. One writer explains what the custom stood for, then imagines Pilate weighing his options aloud.
It helps to know that this custom remembered how God once stepped in to save the nation. Each year one prisoner went free, as a reminder that God had once set Israel free. And now the Passover is coming. I must release someone then. Shall I set free Barabbas or Jesus?
So why did the crowd pick him? One writer says the choice was never really about Barabbas.
It is not that the crowd had the slightest regard for Barabbas; the point was that they did not want Jesus.
Another writer weighs where the guilt for that choice fell heaviest.
So this proved the whole world guilty before God. Yet none were so deeply involved as those who should least have been. The people who had the law fell under its curse. That was not only because they disobeyed its commands. Worst of all, they were set on rejecting their own Messiah and putting Him to death — and this while the foreigner tried to let Him go.
Pilate's choice tied the two men together. One commentator sees the gospel in that.
We see him as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. For him the feast of redemption offers a possible release — but only, on Pilate's terms, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners. To "release Barabbas" is "to destroy Jesus." Why? Because He has done evil? The judge asks in vain; where is it? Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In God's purpose we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true Passover, by which even a Barabbas may be delivered. It is not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
Another writer pictures what the freed man could have said next.
Barabbas was released, though guilty and condemned, because the Lord Jesus took his place. Christ was his substitute. After his release, Barabbas might have gone out and looked up at Him who hung on the cross. He could have said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty." It is a wonderful illustration of the atonement.
One writer asks what that request showed about the people who made it.
Yet the Jews, led by the chief priests and elders, asked for this man's release instead of the release of the Lord Jesus. No one knows why they asked for this particular prisoner. But it shows their ungodliness as clearly as possible: they could choose such a notoriously wicked man in place of the Lord of life and glory, their Messiah. Peter did not fail to press this home on them: "You denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you" (Acts 3:14).
- Charged — Barabbas had truly done the crime the leaders pinned on Jesus: insurrection. He was a robber and a murderer as well.
- Chosen — the crowd did not admire Barabbas; they refused Jesus. That choice showed the whole world guilty, with the leaders most deeply involved.
- Exchanged — Pilate's terms tied the two men together. To free Barabbas was to destroy Jesus, so the innocent One took the guilty man's place.
- Released — at the feast that remembered God's rescue of Israel, a chief of sinners walked free. Nothing good in him earned it.
- Confronted — Peter later put this choice to the city. They had traded the Holy and Righteous One for a murderer.
Pilate therefore, desirous to release Jesus, again addressed [them].
Pilate has already told the crowd that he finds Jesus innocent. Now he appeals to them again for a release he has the power to grant himself. Why did a man who wanted Jesus freed end up handing Him over?
Pilate's wish to release Jesus runs right through the record. One writer lines up the evidence, asks the obvious question, and answers it from Matthew and Mark.
He was determined, as Peter declared only a few weeks after the event, to release the Lord (Acts 3:13). He laboured for that purpose, desiring to achieve it (Luke 23:20). John writes (19:11) that Pilate sought to release Him after hearing the Lord's answer, "He who delivered me over to you has the greater sin." He was convinced of the Lord's innocence of any charge the Jews laid against Him, and repeated to them his firm conviction about it. Why then did he not release Him? Matthew tells us (27:24) that Pilate saw a tumult was rising. So to stop it, and to keep the people happy (Mark 15:15), he released Barabbas and delivered Jesus to be crucified. … Besides, he was anything but popular. No doubt he dreaded an appeal to the emperor against him for his conduct while in office. So he was willing to keep the people happy and to prove himself Caesar's friend (John 19:12). His conscience made him a coward. He gave way to the popular call.
Pilate's desire was real. But it came with a price he would not pay.
Nothing can be more striking than the story of Pilate. He had no enmity against Christ. He would have discharged Him if he could at the same time have kept his standing in the world.
The man who addressed the crowd here held the power of Rome, and that makes his failure the more striking.
How pitiable that the judge and governor of the proudest nation on earth, with his own subjects standing before him, lacked the moral courage to do what he knew was right! It shows us that what the world needs is not so much power as moral uprightness.
Pilate had one duty. He took another road.
In that case his business was simply to release Him. But instead of yielding to his conscience, he seeks a compromise with it. He thinks he has found a way out of a difficult situation, so he puts the whole matter into the people's hands. So he makes it almost impossible to return to the path of righteousness he has left. He openly shows himself to be not of the truth.
Offering to beat an innocent man and then free Him was itself part of the trap.
The issue was clear: justice must release Him. Yet Pilate tried a compromise with the unjust suggestion that he would have Him whipped before releasing Him. He thought this lesser judgment might satisfy the Jews. By this dishonourable means he was himself weaving the net in which the Jews snared him.
Luke names the reason the sentence fell as it did.
Pilate repeats his proposal another time (v. 22), yet without success. This leads us to what may be the most shocking moment in the trial of the Son of God. The judge was convinced. The evidence for the innocence of the Man Christ Jesus was overwhelming. Yet we read: "But they were urgent, demanding with loud cries that he should be crucified. And their voices prevailed. So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted." This sentence is the exact opposite of the evidence. The simple but telling reason is that the "voices prevailed." When pressure becomes strong enough, political judgment bows to it.
That a Roman governor kept trying to free Jesus throws the conduct of the accusers into sharp relief.
So all the world was proved guilty before God. But none were so deeply involved as those who should least have been. The people who had the law fell under its curse. It was not only because they disobeyed its requirements. Worst of all, they were firmly set on rejecting their own Messiah and putting Him to death — and this when the Gentile was trying to let Him go.
Pilate's position is a common one. Commentators turn the scene on the reader.
Is there not many a person here in the same moral position as Pilate? Your conscience touches you. You would like to be on the side of the Lord Jesus Christ. You would like to stand up for Him. You would like to be His friend. But then there is the world. You cannot give up the world. You cannot break with it.
Pilate's story also warns what such yielding costs later.
He was weak, and afraid of the crowd's opposition or resentment. So he gave way, against his conscience and his better judgment. "The fear of man lays a snare" (Prov. 29:25). How many since his day have had to reproach themselves bitterly for yielding to that fear!
- Convinced. Pilate knew Jesus was innocent, said so more than once, and worked for His release.
- Compromised. Instead of obeying that conviction he bargained with it. He offered a beating, then Barabbas, and left himself no way back.
- Crowded out. The record says why the sentence fell: not the evidence, but the voices that prevailed.
- Condemning. A Gentile governor tried to free Jesus. That makes His own nation's drive to kill Him the heavier guilt.
- Costly. The fear of man laid the snare. Commentators press it on every reader who wants Christ's side but will not break with the world.
But they cried out in reply saying, Crucify, crucify him.
Pilate had already judged this prisoner innocent. Luke records the crowd's answer as one word, shouted twice over and then repeated again and again. The question the scene forces is why so unjust a demand was the one that won.
They did not simply ask for a death. They named a penalty, and one writer explains what that word carried.
Crucifixion and death are not necessarily the same thing. Crucifixion speaks of judicial dealing, and it assumes that someone has the right to act that way. "Shall I crucify your King?" asked Pilate. "Crucify him, crucify him," was the cry of the crowd. A person might die in many ways, but crucifixion was punishment under law: it was what they did to criminals.
Their own law never used this penalty. That is why they had to take the demand to a Roman governor.
They hanged Him on a tree — "Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree." It was not, as we know, the Jewish way of punishing criminals. The Old Testament Scriptures show that when the Jews put an offender to death, they stoned him. But hanging a man on a gallows was a Gentile, a heathen method of execution. So they handed Christ over to the Romans, saying, "It is not lawful for us to put anyone to death."
It is easy to hear this as mob noise. One writer looks at who led it.
This was not merely the act of an ignorant rabble, or of the common crowd. It was the high priests and religious leaders of the nation who were at the front of that terrible cry, "Crucify Him, crucify Him."
The welcome had come first, from the same city.
Even the children are crying aloud in the streets. Is He indeed to be recognised and accepted as King? Are they ready to dress Him in the purple robe? It is a sad thing for man, for Jerusalem and for Israel! They did not know the time when God came to them. Soon, in place of the shouts of welcome, come the angry cries: "Away with this man!" "Crucify Him!"
Luke gives the reason a few lines later: the voices prevailed.
This may be the most shocking moment in the trial of the Son of God. The judge was convinced. The evidence that the Man Christ Jesus was innocent was overwhelming. Yet we read: "But they were urgent, demanding with loud cries that he should be crucified. And their voices prevailed. So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted." This sentence is the exact opposite of the evidence. The simple but telling reason is that the voices "prevailed." When pressure becomes too strong, political judgement bows to pressure. The Son of Man has no comment to make on any of it: "like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth."
The cry did not condemn one nation only.
So the whole world was proved guilty before God, but no one was more deeply involved than those who should have been the last to do it. The people who had the law fell under its curse. It was not only that they disobeyed its requirements. Worst of all, they were determined to reject their own Messiah and put Him to death — and this while the foreign ruler was trying to let Him go. This is what the world was proved to be, once reality came out through the One who alone was real, the Holy and the True.
The cry exposed the heart that made it.
If we want a perfect standard by which to measure the world, to measure the human heart, to measure sin, we must look at the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ... When the human voice cried out, "Crucify Him! crucify Him!" that voice was the utterance of the human heart, declaring, as nothing else could declare, its true condition in the sight of God... When man preferred a robber and murderer to Christ, he proved that he would rather have robbery and murder than light and love.
The story does not end with the shout. The same city will one day sound very different.
In the very city where He suffered so much shame at His first coming, they will give Him honour and glory... Yes, where they whipped Him, struck Him, spat on Him, tore the hair from His cheek, and cried, "Away with Him! Crucify Him! crucify Him!" — there they will obey Him, serve Him, thank Him and honour Him. And they will cry, "Blessed be His holy name forever and ever!"
- Demand. "Crucify" was not a general call for death. It named a legal punishment, the kind given to criminals.
- Curse. The Jews stoned criminals. Crucifixion was a Gentile execution, and it carried the written curse on everyone hanged on a tree.
- Voices. Religious leaders led the cry as much as the crowd did, and it won for one reason: the voices prevailed over the evidence. The Lord answered nothing.
- Verdict. The shout proved the whole world guilty — most of all the people who had the law, since even the foreign governor wanted to release Him.
- Reversal. The cross measures the human heart at its worst, and the same lips that shouted this will one day bless His name.
And he said the third time to them, What evil then has this [man] done? I have found no cause of death in him I will chastise him therefore and release him.
Pilate has already declared Jesus innocent twice. Here he says it a third time. Then, in the same breath, he offers to have Him whipped before letting Him go. A judge who finds no crime must release the prisoner. So why did Pilate not do it?
Pilate found no crime, yet he did not release Jesus. The crowd drove the case, not the evidence.
It seems Pilate had not expected such a choice, so he tried to reason with the people again. All he heard was their unreasoning, vicious demand: crucify Jesus. For the third time Pilate insisted that he had found no cause in Him for the death penalty. Yet, as before, Pilate said he would have Him whipped. In fact, John tells us that Pilate did whip Him (John 19:1) even before his final efforts to release Him. So Pilate added more injustice than the Jews had demanded.
The offer sounds like mercy. In fact, it handed each side something.
His conclusion, however, must surprise any fair observer: "I will therefore punish and release him" (v. 16). This verdict was designed to serve Pilate's aims and the crowd's at the same time. On the one hand, it would allow Pilate to release Jesus (as he knew he should). On the other hand, it would satisfy the crowd by declaring the Lord guilty in two ways. First, He would be punished — which meant the cruel practice of whipping (John 19:1). Second, He would be released, not because He was innocent, but because Pilate had to release a criminal at the feast. … In one word, Pilate's proposal rested on the principle of compromise.
Pilate did go through with the whipping. Another writer traces what came of it:
Pilate, now in their hands, hands Jesus over to be whipped. It seems he hoped this would satisfy the people, just as his earlier proposal had aimed to do (Luke 23:22), so that he could then release Him. In every compromise of this kind he simply fails, and fails miserably.
The question was asked about a life His enemies had watched for years. They wanted a flaw and never found one.
During His three and a half years of ministry the Saviour lived in the fierce glare of hostile criticism. He did not live apart in the desert, as John the Baptist did. He moved freely among the people. So all the facts of His life were known. If His foes could have discovered a single flaw in Him, how it would have delighted their evil hearts! But He was God's holy One. The Passover lamb was to be "without blemish"; only so could it picture Him who was at once holy in nature and stainless in all His ways.
The words were a legal finding about a charge sheet. They also describe something no other person on earth could have said of himself.
He is One of whom Pilate had to say, "I have found in him no guilt deserving death" (Luke 23:22). Pilate said this as a judge, yet it was true in the fullest sense. We must die. But here at last on earth stands a blessed perfect Man over whom death has no claim. Plenty of cause of death in us, but no cause of death in Him.
The judge cleared Him and sentenced Him anyway. Both sides in that courtroom convicted themselves.
Was there ever such a barefaced travesty of justice? What judge would dare let the accusers' shouting settle the verdict? And here the verdict was death. Pilate passed the death sentence while saying he found no fault in our Lord. That made the Gentiles guilty. The Jews shouted for His death. That made the Jews guilty.
The verdict reached far beyond that courtroom:
So all the world was proved guilty before God, but none were so deeply involved as those whom it least suited. The people who had the law fell under its curse … worst of all, because they were set on rejecting their own Messiah to death, and this when the Gentiles were trying to let Him go. Such was the world shown to be, where the reality came out through Him who alone was real, the Holy and the True. No room for boasting any more. In truth there never was any, but now it is plain and no one can deny it.
- Verdict — Three times the judge stated the same finding: no guilt deserving death. Justice had one next step: release.
- Compromise — "Punish and release" was meant to satisfy his conscience and the crowd at once. It treated an innocent Man as guilty, to look merciful.
- Failure — Every half-measure of this kind fails. The whipping did not save Jesus, and it did not save Pilate. It only added injustice no one had demanded.
- Innocence — "What evil has he done?" met silence. Years of hostile watching had found no flaw in Him — the Lamb without blemish.
- Reversal — The court judged itself. He had no guilt deserving death; we have plenty. The sentence that condemned Him proved the world guilty and left it nothing to boast of.
But they were urgent with loud voices, begging that he might be crucified. And their voices [and those of the chief priests] prevailed.
The trial reaches its decisive moment. The evidence had not changed. The shouting grew louder than the judge's conscience. Two questions follow: why did Pilate give in, and what does the crowd's choice show about the human heart?
Luke calls the crowd "urgent". A Bible dictionary explains the word:
"Urgent" — that is, with persistent, unrelenting pressing. Luke 7:4; Luke 23:23; Acts 26:7; Rom. 12:12; 2 Tim. 4:2.
Everything in the case pointed one way. The sentence went the other. One writer names the reason, and points to the silence of the One on trial:
Despite the convictions of the judge and despite the overwhelming evidence for the innocence of the Man Christ Jesus, we read: "But they were urgent, demanding with loud cries that He should be crucified. And their voices prevailed. So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted" (vs. 23, 24). This sentence goes directly against the evidence. The reason is simple and telling: the "voices prevailed". When pressure becomes too strong, political judgement bows to it. … The Son of Man makes no comment on these proceedings: "like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth" (Isa. 53:7).
Noise alone does not explain why a judge dropped his own verdict. The same writer points to a threat from the crowd that touched Pilate's own position:
It was not only the intensity of the pressure, not only the rage of the crowd, that prompted Pilate to give in. John's Gospel shows the argument that changed his mind: "If you release this man, you are not Caesar's friend" (John 19:12). In politics (and sometimes elsewhere), good relationships with powerful people protect your own position and career. So a just verdict that puts your own prospects and relationships at risk must be avoided at all costs.
Older translations add the chief priests to the voices that prevailed. Commentators say the religious leaders led, the state followed, and both were guilty:
Religious evil had taken the lead in this wickedness. Now it had only to draw the world along to finish it. The civil power had to give in to the deliberate evil of God's people, who had turned away from Him. This is the history of the world. Of the two, the religious side is always nearest to Satan… The guilt of the Jews was complete, and so was the guilt of the Gentiles, for Pontius Pilate declared Him innocent and wanted to release Him. The Roman governor was cruel enough himself, yet he disliked cruelty in others. Still, he would not go so far as to save Him from the hatred of His enemies. That would have cost him something. It threatened his own interest, and Pilate gave way. The one thing that is strong in the world is enmity against Christ.
Pilate had one more way out: a custom of releasing a prisoner. The crowd used it to make a choice. One writer refuses to let readers stand outside that choice:
This compromise not only fails. It shows how deep into evil the Jewish nation had sunk. To carry out the custom, they choose Barabbas, a prisoner held for murder and robbery, to be released. Such is the evil of our hearts. We may dislike a murderer and a thief. Yet if the question is Christ or the murderer, then apart from the grace of God we will choose the murderer — the one who takes life rather than the One Who gives life.
The voices that prevailed turned justice on its head:
The man proven guilty of rebellion against the government and of murder went free. The One whom the judge three times declared faultless was condemned to crucifixion! Pilate must surely have carried a torturing, burning conscience for the rest of his life.
The count in that crowd is the sharpest detail, and one writer turns it into a question for the reader:
Jesus or Barabbas? This was the question which divided them. Surely someone will speak up for Jesus. Not one! I think I hear you say, "I would, had I been there." Well, show yourself on His side now. Side with Jesus, and let the world know, too, that you have done so.
- Urgent — the word means pressing without letting up. They did not argue the case; they wore the judge down.
- Prevailed — the sentence contradicted the evidence for one reason only: the voices won. Judgement bowed to pressure.
- Interest — Pilate's career and standing with Caesar were at stake. A just verdict would have cost him, so he gave way.
- Choice — given a murderer or the One who gives life, the crowd took the murderer. Not one voice spoke for Jesus. Commentators say this exposes every heart, not just theirs.
- Now — the answer to "I would have spoken up" is to take His side today, in the open, where it can still cost something.
And Pilate adjudged that what they begged should take place.
Three times the governor had said he found no guilt in the prisoner. Yet he ends the case with the very verdict the crowd shouted for. That raises the trial's hardest questions: why a judge condemns a man he believes innocent, who carries the guilt, and what God was doing behind it all.
The decisive factor in the courtroom was not proof but volume.
Despite the convictions of the judge and despite the overwhelming evidence for the innocence of the Man Christ Jesus, we read that their voices prevailed and Pilate gave sentence that it should be as they demanded. That sentence goes directly against the evidence, and the simple but telling reason is that the "voices prevailed." When pressure becomes too strong, political judgement bows to pressure. The next verse underlines it: "he delivered over Jesus to their will." The Son of Man makes no comment on these proceedings: "like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so He opened not His mouth" (Isa. 53:7).
Pilate did not give in all at once. His repeated questioning shows a man still fighting himself.
Pilate asked them a third time, "Why? What evil has He done?" Still struggling! Those battles are not settled in a moment. Conscience loves ease too well to yield in a moment. Pilate is on a battlefield until he is conquered.
Passing sentence was more than a legal act. It was the moment the struggle ended:
Then Pilate gave sentence. There is the victory.
Fear conquered him, not argument — and the favour he bought at the cost of justice could still turn on him.
Pilate was not the last to go along with what was wrong for the sake of present advantage. Such a course may look successful at the time. Very often it turns out badly for the person in the end. Sooner or later conscience will speak and make itself heard. And the people whose favour he bought at the cost of righteousness may in the end turn round and attack the one who acted to please him. Pilate proved this… Weak, and afraid of popular opposition or resentment, he yielded against his conscience and better judgment. "The fear of man lays a snare" (Prov. 29:25).
Many people today stand exactly where Pilate stood.
Your conscience stirs you. You would like to be on the side of the Lord Jesus Christ… you would like to stand up for Him, to be His friend, to be on His side. But then there is the world, and you cannot give up the world… They cannot give up their Caesar. "If you release this man, you are not Caesar's friend. Everyone who makes himself a king opposes Caesar." The moment Pilate heard that word, the decision was made.
The verdict spread the guilt in two directions at once — to the judge who passed it and to the crowd who demanded it.
Pilate passed the death sentence while saying he found no fault in our Lord. That made the Gentiles guilty. The Jews shouted for His death, and that made the Jews guilty.
Yet the guilt was not spread equally. Those who had God's law were the ones pressing hardest for the death of their own Messiah.
So all the world was proved guilty before God, but none were so deeply involved as those for whom it was least fitting. The people who had the law fell under its curse. This was not only because they disobeyed its requirements. Worse still, they were set on rejecting their own Messiah and putting Him to death — and this when the Gentile wanted to let Him go.
Granting their demand meant one man walked free and another went to the cross.
The man proven guilty of rebellion against the government and of murder went free. The judge sent the One he had three times declared to be without fault to be crucified!
Under the surface of this injustice, God was working out another purpose.
Barabbas is seen as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible release — but only, on the choice Pilate gave, if Jesus is given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners… Look deeper than the evil wills of men. In the purpose of God we may see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover, which sets even a Barabbas free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
- Pressure decides. The verdict followed the loudest voices, not the evidence. When pressure grows strong enough, judgment bends to it.
- Conscience loses. Pilate fought his own conviction three times over. Passing sentence was the moment his conscience lost.
- Fear enslaves. He feared the crowd and Caesar. The fear of man lays a snare, and that bargain pays you back with a bad conscience.
- Guilt spreads. The sentence exposed Gentile and Jew alike, with the heaviest blame on those who had the most light.
- God overrules. Beneath the injustice, the guilty man goes free and the spotless One takes his place. That is substitution, written into the worst crime in history.
And he released him who, for tumult and murder, had been cast into prison, whom they begged for, and Jesus he delivered up to their will.
A murderer walks free. Pilate hands the innocent One over. Luke ends his account of the trial with that exchange, not with a verdict. Two questions follow. What does the crowd's choice show about the human heart? How could such injustice serve God's purpose?
Start with why a prisoner could go free at all, and with who this prisoner was:
This feast celebrated Israel's release from slavery in Egypt. As a favour, they were allowed to release one prisoner at that feast. Barabbas was a terrible character. "Bar" means "son"; "Abbas" — father. Barabbas — "the son of a father." And here was the Son of God! It was a solemn moment for that nation. Before them stood the Lord Jesus, the Son of God, and this wicked man, the son of his father. Here was the Blessed One, the source of life. There was a murderer, the destroyer of life, "who had been thrown into prison for insurrection and murder." It is the choice of the human heart — your heart and mine.
Why prefer a robber? One writer points to a clash of two wills:
They did not choose the gracious Giver who would lay down His life for others. They chose the notable robber who could take life itself to reach his selfish ends. They did not choose the One who carried out God's will for man's blessing. They chose the one who forced his own will to the very end, to God's dishonour and his neighbour's loss... The will of God was THIS MAN'S delight, and the bringing in of God's will meant the displacing of man's.
The verse names Barabbas's crimes, and his release depends on Jesus being given up:
We see him as a chief of sinners, a rebel and a murderer. The feast of redemption offers him a possible release. But it comes only on Pilate's terms: Jesus must be given up. Jesus becomes, as it were, the Substitute for the chief of sinners... Look deeper than the wicked wills of men. In the purpose of God we can see that holy Sin-offering, the true passover. Through Him even a Barabbas may go free — not for any good in him, for Barabbas shows none.
Jesus keeps freeing others, and each time the cost falls on Him:
Even in this last scene, Jesus delivers others at His own cost and in every sense. Just before this, He delivered the disciples from arrest. Now He is the means of delivering Barabbas, wicked as he was. He never saved Himself... Barabbas was guilty and condemned, yet Pilate released him. He might have gone out, looked up at the One hanging on the cross, and said, "He died for me; He paid my penalty."
The verse ends with a Person surrendered, not a sentence passed. Pilate gives Him up to whatever the crowd wants:
The world may do what it likes with Jesus. He is "delivered over to their will." Man does what he wants with the Son of God. Christ allows man to do his worst to Him... He says, "Do your utmost. Do your worst. I shall not complain. And when you have done your worst to Me, then I shall do My best for you." When they had nailed Him to the cross, He dies for them. He died in their stead.
This was not one man's failure. Everyone stood exposed:
All the world was proved guilty before God, but none were so deeply involved as those whom it least became. The people who had the law fell under its curse. It was not only because they broke its commands. Worst of all, they had set themselves to reject their own Messiah and put Him to death — and this while the Gentiles sought to let Him go.
Man's wickedness was real. So was God's plan. Note the two deliveries at once:
How good it is to turn away from man and all his wickedness. Learn instead that the death of our Lord Jesus Christ was not only the result of man's evil, but of the counsels of God. He was "delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God," when men took Him with lawless hands to crucify and kill Him (Acts 2:23)... When Pilate delivered up Jesus to be crucified, God delivered Him for our trespasses (Rom. 4:25).
God's care even shaped which man went free:
Their choice confirms the people's guilt. But there is another side: God watches over the scene. He makes sure that His Son is not released as a guilty criminal who is pardoned, but condemned though innocent.
- Delivered — by men. Pilate hands Jesus over to a crowd's wishes, not to a sentence. He gives the innocent One to the will of the guilty.
- Delivered — for us. Pilate acted in cowardice; God acted with purpose. He delivered up His Son for our trespasses, according to His definite plan.
- Delivered — instead of. Barabbas goes free only because Pilate gives Jesus up. A murderer walks out; the sinless One takes the place he had earned.
- Delivered — at His own cost. He rescues the disciples, then Barabbas, and never once saves Himself.
- Delivered — and all are exposed. Rome sought to let Him go; Israel demanded His death. The choice between Barabbas and Christ is one every heart still makes.
And as they led him away, they laid hold on a certain Simon, a Cyrenian, coming from the field, and put the cross upon him to bear it behind Jesus.
Soldiers grab a man on his way in from the fields and load a condemned man's cross onto him. Luke tells it in one sentence. Yet commentators find three things in it: how the four Gospel accounts fit together, how far cruel men go when nothing holds them back, and how God answers a stranger with grace.
John says Jesus went out carrying His own cross. Luke says the soldiers laid the cross on Simon. Both are true. One writer shows how Luke's line joins the accounts.
"Cyrene," the modern Tripoli. Compare Acts 6:9. Notice how Luke's account brings together what John says with what Matthew and Mark say. The Lord must have carried the cross alone until Simon took some part of it from Him.
Another writer lists who walked in that procession.
The procession, as we might call it, consisted of the Lord, carrying His cross. Behind Him came Simon the Cyrenian, forced to carry the lighter end of it. Two criminals were part of the group as well, and no doubt each carried his own cross too. The soldiers on duty completed it.
Many have pictured Jesus collapsing under the weight of the beam. Commentators warn that this reads something into the record that is not there.
The Lord carried it first, then it passed to Simon. Many assume that Jesus collapsed under the weight of the cross. Scripture does not support that. Let us not dare to go beyond the Word of God with such inferences.
Why did the cross change hands at all? One writer starts with the usual practice, then reads the soldiers' motive.
It was the custom to force the condemned man to carry his own cross to the place of execution. From John we learn that this was done to Jesus. Was this pity for Him in His extreme weakness? No. From all we have seen, they may have feared He would die on the way. Then they would lose the satanic pleasure of watching Him die on the cross.
Simon did not volunteer. Soldiers seized him off the road because they had the power to do it. One writer sees here a moment when nothing held human wickedness back.
They lead Jesus away to the cross, and they force Simon to carry it after Him. Now man shows his needless cruelty in every form.
Another writer sees more than cruelty in the same act.
The violent soldiers care nothing for the freedom and rights of others. They force a man coming back from his work in the field to carry the cross. Simon the Cyrenian had the honour of carrying the actual cross for the One who suffered on the cross for all the world. God, it seems, did not overlook this small service for the Lord; for we are told that this Simon was the father of Alexander and Rufus. … This would imply that Alexander and Rufus were well known converts when Mark wrote his Gospel.
Men forced this service on Simon. One writer sees God answering that in grace, and remembering his sons too.
There was no restraint now. But if man was lawless, God remembered Simon another day, and his sons are not forgotten in the record of life. (Compare Mark 15:21 and Romans 16:13.) … When we know Him, or rather when He knows us, it is no small comfort that God takes account of everything.
Commentators differ over whether Simon already believed. One writer leaves the question open.
From the way the narrative reads, we would gather that he was either already a believer or became one afterwards. Perhaps God used his contact with the Lord that day to bring him to repentance and faith.
Simon carried the cross behind Jesus. One writer takes that as a picture of the believer's own cross-bearing, and marks off what it does not mean.
Simon's carrying of His cross does show us this: in a certain sense believers have the privilege of bearing the cross of the Lord Jesus. This is not a share in His atoning sufferings. It is a path of rejection by the world for His sake. "Far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world" (Galatians 6:14).
- Compelled. Simon did not choose this; soldiers seized a stranger coming in from the fields and laid the cross on him.
- Cruelty. Nothing now held men back; the soldiers may even have wanted Jesus kept alive so they could watch Him die on the cross.
- Caution. The Lord carried the cross first and Simon carried part of it after. The idea that Jesus fainted under the weight is not in the record.
- Counted. God takes account of everything. What men forced on Simon, He remembered, and Simon's sons Alexander and Rufus were known believers later.
- Cross-bearing. To carry it behind Jesus pictures the believer's share — not in His atoning sufferings, but in the world's rejection of Him.
And a great multitude of the people, and of women who wailed and lamented him, followed him.
A crowd walked the road to the cross with Jesus, and among them were women weeping out loud. Their tears raise two questions. What was that sorrow worth, and why did He turn it away from Himself?
One writer pictures who was in that march, and where the sympathy went.
The procession, as we might call it, consisted of the Lord, bearing His cross, with Simon the Cyrenian, forced to bear the lighter end of it behind Him. Two others, criminals, doubtless each bearing his own cross too, formed part of the group, with the attendant soldiers completing it. But far outnumbering these who figured in the procession was a great multitude of the people, and among them many women. These last mourned and lamented Him, all their sympathy, it seems, being given to Him and none to the others who were about to suffer for their crimes, for everyone knew He was innocent. As they moved along the wailing might have been heard some distance away.
Several commentators treat this weeping as a warning, not a compliment.
It is not that man lacks feeling: but feeling without faith comes to nothing, no less than mind, or authority, or position, were it the highest in the religious world. The affections of nature may be sweet, but can never be trusted to stand firm for Christ, however moved for a season… Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but trusted Himself to none.
Another writer draws the line between the heart and the conscience.
The affections are in the heart, and conscience is my responsibility for right and wrong. You may have natural feelings moved like the women of Jerusalem beating their breasts because someone was going to be put to death; but what detects the work of God is when these two go together… Where the light comes and deals with the conscience, the love attracts the heart, and both are moved.
Commentators differ over these women. One thinks some in that crowd owed their health to Him.
Some who wept there might be those who had felt His healing power. Among them, perhaps, were people once deaf, dumb, blind; the woman healed of the discharge of blood; the woman made straight after Satan had bent her over for eighteen years; the woman who washed His feet with tears and wiped them with the hair of her head, whose sins were forgiven, "for she loved much." These were at least in tears, but powerless to prevent the severe judgment for such a crime — powerless, because it was "their hour, and the power of darkness."
Another writer will not lump these women in with the women of Galilee.
The women of Galilee were clearly "elect according to the foreknowledge of God." But what do you say of the daughters of Jerusalem? They were not among the crucifiers. They represent, I think, the soul of the remnant later on, in the first moment of awakening.
The heart of the scene is not the crowd but the One walking through it. He was minutes from death, yet He stopped to think of others.
He did not resent their sympathy, nor did He undervalue the lamentation of these daughters of Jerusalem; but, knowing the future of that unhappy city and its coming desolation, He could contrast His own sufferings with those which would soon fall on its children… calm and self-possessed, and mindful, as ever and always, of others rather than of Himself, He could pause on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep not for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.
One writer says where their tears should have gone.
There was much human feeling in this, though not faith or real love. Why not lament for themselves? For in truth days of sorrow were coming… Jesus was the green tree; and if Jesus was treated so, what would their fate be, pictured fully by that dry tree, which was Israel? Israel certainly ought to have been the green tree of promise; but it was only a dry tree waiting for judgment.
- Crowd. A great multitude followed Him to the cross. The women's sympathy went to Him alone, because everyone knew He was innocent.
- Feeling. Emotion stirred by the sight of suffering is real but unreliable — "feeling without faith comes to nothing," and He "trusted Himself to none."
- Test. A work of God shows when heart and conscience move together: the light exposes guilt while the love draws you in.
- Love. Minutes from the cross, He turned round to warn them; they could see His suffering, He could foresee theirs.
- Warning. Their tears pointed the wrong way. If the green tree suffered like this, judgment was certain for the dry.
And Jesus turning round to them said, Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep over me, but weep over yourselves and over your children;
A crowd lined the road as Jesus walked out to die, and women in it wailed aloud for Him. He turns and refuses their tears — not out of scorn, but because He sees what is coming to them.
Not everyone in that crowd was an enemy. One writer separates these mourners from the women of Galilee, and says who they picture.
The daughters of Jerusalem are not the women of Galilee. How do we tell them apart? Scripture keeps them apart. It is another example of the great moral variety in Scripture... They were not among the crucifiers. They represent, I think, the soul of the remnant by-and-by, in the first moment of awakening.
Their grief was real. It was also powerless, because there was no faith in it.
It is not that man lacks feeling. But feeling without faith comes to nothing. So does mind, or authority, or position — even the highest position in the religious world. Natural affection may be sweet, but you can never trust it to stand firm for Christ, however stirred it is for a time... Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but trusted Himself to none. Tenderly He warns them of what man does not believe until it comes.
Even here, He is thinking about others and not Himself. One writer sets the two lines of sight side by side.
He did not resent their sympathy. He did not think little of the grief of these daughters of Jerusalem. But He knew the future of that unhappy city and the ruin coming to it. So He could set His own sufferings beside the sufferings that would soon fall on its children... He stayed calm and self-possessed. As always, He thought of others rather than of Himself. So He could stop on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep not for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.
If tears are the wrong response to the cross, what is the right one?
Let sinners know that His cross does not seek the compassion of men, but their faith. It does not ask them to feel that hour with human kindness. It asks them to be blessed by that hour, believing in their hearts and coming to full peace of conscience. It asks them not to pity the cross, but to lean on it.
The reason for the redirected tears comes in the verses that follow, in a picture of two trees.
The "green tree" in this scripture is Christ Himself, and the "dry" is the Jewish nation... That is, look at what was done to Him who was like a green tree: wicked malice, hypocrisy, unjust judgment, and a degrading death. If that fell on Him, what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree, morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves. And they were now committing their crowning sin in rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, symbolised by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire.
Commentators differ on how far ahead the warning reaches. Some apply it to the Roman siege of the city:
If He, the green tree, suffered like this at the hands of both Jew and Gentile, what would happen to Israel, the dry and sapless stock? What fate awaited it when the Roman power let loose its full fury on it?
Others read the same words as stretching to the end:
The dry tree is the state of Israel in the time of the end. It is desolate and withered after long years of determined refusal of the grace of God in Christ.
A day is coming when the frightened world will pray for shelter. What is that prayer really after, and where can anyone find shelter now?
They are in sore need, but what is it they want? It is a place of refuge, of security, a shelter... The world panics and turns to prayer, but it is too late. You can find shelter from that wrath now in the arms of Jesus. Not in the mountains and the hills, but in Jesus — Jesus who died on Calvary.
- Turning — On the way to His own death He stops and thinks of others. They could see what was happening to Him; He could see what was coming to them.
- Tears — Feeling for Christ can be real and still come to nothing. Affection that never turns into faith cannot stand.
- Trees — He is the green tree, full of life; Israel is the dry tree. What men did to the green tree measures the judgment due on the dry.
- Terror — The cry to the mountains is the world praying for shelter when shelter is gone.
- Trust — The cross does not ask for your pity; it asks you to lean on it, and it offers shelter now.
for behold, days are coming in which they will say, Blessed [are] the barren, and wombs that have not borne, and breasts that have not given suck.
On the road to the cross, a crowd of women wail behind Jesus, and He stops to speak — not about His own agony, but about theirs. He points to days so terrible that women will call childlessness a blessing — but which days, and why turn their tears away from Himself?
Their weeping was real, but it never reached their consciences. One writer names what these mourners still lacked.
They wept, but their consciences were untouched. They did not understand the ruin that was waiting for them. The Lord, in calm and holy concern for them, and at least no stranger to their position as daughters of Jerusalem, says to them: "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for Me, but weep for yourselves and for your children."
Verse 29 is a prediction, and a prediction is the easiest thing to push aside. One writer explains why, and what Israel lost by doing it.
Jesus knew what was in man. He did not look down on the feelings of the women, but He trusted Himself to no one. He warns them gently of what people do not believe until it arrives. Man counts it wisdom to treat the future as uncertain, even when God has spoken it, because the future is uncertain to man. Had they believed the Lord and their own prophets, they would not have refused Him. Had they received Him, days of heaven would have dawned on the earth, and on Israel above all.
Why would a woman with no children be called blessed? One writer explains the horror behind those words, and whose hands would cause it.
He answers the women's weeping with weeping of His own. They have more reason to weep for themselves and their children than for Him. The day of their sorrow was close, and in it the blessing would belong to those who had no children... He is not speaking here of divine wrath, though divine wrath might indeed give them up to it. He is speaking of what they would inflict on one another. The sufferings of those shut up in that besieged city are matters of common history.
How far forward do these days stretch? One writer takes them to cover both the Roman attack on Jerusalem and a trouble still ahead for that nation.
He was showing that after His death the Romans would destroy Jerusalem (21:23), and that more trouble will still fall on that nation and that city (Matt. 24:15-21). Messiah, the Shepherd of Israel, was cut off. So the Jews have felt, and will yet feel, the bitterness of His absence in their hours of trial — and He alone can shield them.
Another writer looks past the siege to a day of reckoning, because God has not let the murder of His Son slip from His mind.
There is a solemn day of retribution coming. Do not think that God has forgotten the murder of His Son. Do you suppose God forgets that His Son was here in this world, and that the world threw Him out?
Jesus said these words minutes before His own crucifixion. One writer weighs where He was standing when He said them.
He stood within a few yards of the place of execution and of an agonizing death. He knew everything that lay ahead of Him, just as He felt every effect of the mockery, insult, cruelty and flogging He had already been through. Yet He was calm and self-possessed, and mindful, as always, of others and not of Himself. He could stop on that terrible road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners to weep for themselves and not for Him. If they mourned for Him, He mourned for them. They could see what was happening to Him. He could see ahead to what would happen to them.
There is no threat in His tone. The same writer points to what He said moments later on the cross.
His words were no threat, no empty demand for the punishment men deserved. They were the calm statement of One who knew every event beforehand. He was Man, and at the same time God. In the short space of a few minutes' relief, at the first shock of crucifixion, He could say: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Not a trace of retaliation or revenge!
- Misplaced tears. The women wept for Jesus with hearts moved but consciences untouched. He turned their grief toward the ruin they had not seen coming.
- Foreseen days. He answers their weeping with weeping of His own. The sorrow ahead is so deep that having no child would count as a blessing.
- Human hands. Most of the horror is what people would do to each other inside the besieged city, though God's wrath could give them up to it.
- Long reach. The days reach to the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, to troubles still ahead for that nation, and to a day of reckoning for the murder of God's Son.
- Unforgetting love. He stood steps from His own execution, yet He spent His breath on their future. Minutes later He asked the Father to forgive His killers.
Then shall they begin to say to the mountains, Fall upon us; and to the hills, Cover us
On the road to His crucifixion, Jesus turns to the women weeping behind Him and tells them to save their tears for themselves. Two questions follow: what disaster did He see coming, and why would anyone rather be buried under a hill than face it?
He was about to be crucified, yet the sorrow He speaks about is not His own. One writer contrasts what the mourners saw with what He saw.
He did not resent their sympathy, or think little of the weeping of these daughters of Jerusalem. But He knew the future of that unhappy city and the ruin coming on it. So He could contrast His own sufferings with those that would soon fall on its children. These are His only recorded words on that short journey. He stood within a few yards of the place of execution and of an agonising death. He knew all that lay before Him... Yet He stayed calm and composed, and thought, as always, of others before Himself. So He could pause on that awful road, turn round, and tell these troubled mourners not to weep for Him, but for themselves. If they lamented for Him, He lamented for them. They could see what was happening to Him; He could foresee what would happen to them.
The cry to the mountains is a prayer. One writer sets it beside three other prayers in this same chapter.
There are four prayers spoken of in this chapter. The prayer of hatred, "Crucify him" (v. 21); the prayer of fear, "Mountains, fall on us" (v. 30); the prayer of love, "Father, forgive them" (v. 34); and the prayer of faith, "Lord, remember me" (v. 42). The prayer of hatred has been answered. By and by there will come the prayer of fear, "Mountains, fall on us: hills, cover us" (see Rev. 6:15-17). Anything to keep men out of the sight of God; anything under the sun to keep them out of the reach of God, and from the wrath of the Lamb.
The same writer asks what those praying want, and where they could find it today.
They are in sore need, but what is it they want? It is a place of refuge, of security, a shelter. "The great day of His wrath has come, and who can stand?" (Rev. 6:15-17.) The world is frightened and turns to prayer, but it is too late. Oh, beloved one, you can find a shelter from that wrath now in the bosom of Jesus; not in the mountains and the hills, but in Jesus — Jesus who died on Calvary.
The next verse gives the reason behind the warning. It turns on two trees.
The "green tree" in this scripture is Christ Himself, and the "dry" is the Jewish nation... That is, if men did such things to Him — wicked malice, hypocrisy, unrighteous judgment, and a degrading death — when He was like a green tree (compare Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7-8), what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree, morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves, and they were now committing their crowning sin in rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, pictured by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire. (Compare Matthew 3:10.)
The women felt real sorrow. One writer says feeling is not the same as faith.
It is not that man lacks feeling: but feeling without faith comes to nothing. So do mind, authority, and position, even the highest in the religious world. The feelings of nature may be sweet, but you can never trust them to stand firm for Christ, however moved for a season... Jesus knew what was in man, did not despise the feelings of the women, but entrusted Himself to none. He warns them gently of what man does not believe until it comes. It is part of man's wisdom to treat God's word about the future as uncertain, because the future is uncertain to man.
One writer points to two fulfilments: one in history, one still ahead.
Those days did come. I admit that the Lord's prophecy was only partly fulfilled, and that it will have a fuller fulfilment later. But if you want to read a dark and bloody page of history, sit down and read the account of the sack of the city of Jerusalem by the Romans under Titus. You will look on horrors that will strike to the very bottom of your soul. Only one thing will exceed them: that time of terrible tribulation which is still to come.
- Refuge — one need runs through this scene: shelter. The cry to the mountains is a search for cover from God's face.
- Love — steps from the cross, Jesus grieves over their ruin, not His own death. They saw His suffering; He saw theirs.
- Reason — if men treated the green tree like this, the dry tree has nothing left but the axe and the fire.
- Rehearsal — the sack of Jerusalem under Titus fulfilled the words in part. The fuller fulfilment is still ahead.
- Right now — the prayer of fear comes too late. Jesus, who died at Calvary, offers today the shelter men will one day beg the hills to give.
for if these things are done in the green tree, what shall take place in the dry?
On the way to the cross, a crowd of women followed Jesus in tears. He turned and told them their grief was aimed at the wrong person. His closing question about green wood and dry wood is a warning wrapped in a picture. It raises two questions at once: who is the green tree, and who is the dry?
The women's tears were real, but the Lord did not treat them as faith. One writer draws the line sharply between emotion stirred by a scene and trust that holds:
It is not that man lacks feeling. But feeling without faith comes to nothing — and it is the same with mind, or authority, or position, even the highest in the religious world. Natural affection may be sweet, but it can never be trusted to stand firm for Christ, however moved it is for a time… Jesus knew what was in man. He did not despise the feelings of the women, but He trusted Himself to no one. He warns them tenderly of what man does not believe until it comes.
Another writer shows how far pity on its own falls short:
One may be moved by the comparison, as if one were superior to Christ, and still fall under the judgment that follows His rejection and death… Judgment was coming not only on Pilate and Herod, and not only on the chief priests. It was coming on the women who wept for Him too. They did not see their own state, and that state was under condemnation. Natural conscience, natural religion, and natural feelings will not do. Nothing less than the glory of God in Jesus will do.
Green wood is living wood — full of sap and fruit. That is the picture the Lord uses of Himself:
Who was the green tree? Why, Christ, of course. Sap, life, green growth, and fruit — all were seen in Him. God looked down from above and saw that one fruitful green tree. Then He looked everywhere else. What did He see? Dry trees!… A dry tree is lifeless. Christ was the green tree, always showing the freshness and fruit that suit God.
The contrast is with the nation that should have borne fruit and did not. One writer spells out what the dry tree pictures, and what is left for it:
Wicked malice, hypocrisy, unrighteous judgment, a degrading death — all this came on Him who was like a green tree (compare Psalm 1:3; Jeremiah 17:7-8). If such things were done to Him, what would be done to the people? They were like a dry tree: morally dead before God, without fruit or even leaves, and now committing their crowning sin by rejecting their Messiah. For such a state, symbolized by a dry tree, there remained nothing but the axe and the fire. (Compare Matthew 3:10.)
Israel should have been that living tree. One writer sums up the tragedy: Israel "ought to have been the green tree of promise; but it was only a dry tree waiting for judgment" (William Kelly).
One writer weighs the fruitful tree against the fruitless, and asks where the sinner will then stand:
He is the living and true vine, and He truly bore fruit to God. If men treated Him like this, what must be the lot of the fruitless and useless? Such branches were they. Where will the ungodly and the sinner appear? Man rejects the green tree, and God rejects the dry.
Commentators differ on how far to press this. Some keep it on the nation and its judgment; others apply it to everyone outside Christ.
One writer applies the question to each reader personally:
Our sins, if unforgiven, must take us into the very place where Christ's love for us led Him. The holy, spotless Lamb of God became the substitute of sinners. Can the unforgiven sinner himself fare better under the awful judgment of sin than He did? He was in the "far off" place for us, when He uttered that mournful and moving cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
The verse ends without an answer. One writer notes the silence: "There was no answer that day; it will have to come" (W. T. P. Wolston). But the cross itself supplies a way out.
Christ was the green tree in all His dependence on God, in all His beauty and perfection. He was a green tree going to judgment. He was to be cut down while still in beauty and freshness… But, thanks be to God, because the green tree suffered, many a dry one will escape.
- Green. The green tree is Christ — sap, life, and fruit, the one growth on earth that satisfied God.
- Dry. The dry tree is what has no life in it: a nation with neither fruit nor leaves, now rejecting its own Messiah.
- Logic. Man rejected the green tree; God rejects the dry. If judgment fell where there was no sin, it will not miss where there is.
- Tears. Feeling for a suffering Christ is not faith. The women wept for Him while judgment was already coming on them.
- Escape. The green tree was cut down so the dry could be spared — that is why He asked the question before the judgment fell, not after.
Now two others also, malefactors, were led with him to be put to death.
That morning two criminals walked the same road to the same death as Jesus. Commentators see design here, not accident: men planned it, God had foretold it, and the two men beside Him still stand for two kinds of people.
The men who set up this execution acted out of their own hatred. Yet it matched words written centuries earlier. One writer notes both God's overruling hand and the speed of it:
Two things strike me here. First, God's overruling hand so guided their malice — and the malice was all their own — that they fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah 53 by putting Jesus among the criminals. Second, how fast it all went. They seized Him unlawfully one night, and, despite all Roman law and justice, executed Him the next day. Men did not treat Barabbas like this. Nor were James, Peter or Paul allowed to be treated like this later. They at least got a longer wait — a wait denied to Him who was the Prince of life.
The prophecy is Isaiah 53:12: "and was numbered with the transgressors." One commentator marks the moment it came true:
They had to add one more insult, so that the words of Isaiah would come true: "and was numbered with the transgressors." (Isa. 53:12.) "Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him." What a sight! He who was God was walking with two thieves to the place where the great work of the preparation day had to be done. That work would bring lost sinners into the sabbath, the rest of God.
The pairing was not random. They picked the companions and placed the crosses to send a message about who Jesus was:
That morning they searched the prison cells of Jerusalem for the most debased criminals the city held. They led them out to die along with Jesus. These men had been guilty of appalling crimes. That is why they picked them to hang one on His right hand and the other on His left. That is why they put Him on the centre and highest cross. They meant to proclaim by their well-considered and malicious plan that He was the worst of the three. So they heaped shame on Him, adding deepest insult to deepest injury.
Another writer sums up the whole treatment in one line:
Jesus was spared no insult. As He was the song of the drunkard, so He made His grave with the wicked.
One commentator pictures the group that walked out of the city:
The procession, as we might call it, consisted of the Lord bearing His cross, with Simon from Cyrene forced to carry the lighter end of it behind Him. Two others, criminals, no doubt each carrying his own cross, formed part of the group, and the soldiers on duty completed it.
One writer is glad that the men beside Him were criminals and not James and John:
But I am glad that men like these, and not James and John, became His companions that day. In this the devil showed his lack of foresight, and in this he was outwitted. Suppose they had crucified the sons of Zebedee, one on His right hand and the other on His left. People would then have said that these men were helping Him finish His work of redemption.
The two men shared His punishment, but not on the same terms:
Those murderers who hung with Him could have no hand in the work He was doing. They were suffering for their own crimes; He, the sinless One, for yours and mine.
One writer reads the two thieves as a picture of all humanity:
The two thieves represent the two great classes into which mankind has been divided, from the days of Cain and Abel down to this very moment. God's Christ is the one great and all-deciding test in every case. Think of every shade of moral character, every level of society, and every caste, class, sect and party the human family has been, is, or ever will be divided into. All of them are absorbed in this one great point: "In or out of Christ."
- Numbered. Being led out with two criminals fulfilled Isaiah 53:12 — He was counted among the guilty.
- Overruled. The hatred was all man's own, yet God steered it to do what He had promised.
- Designed. They picked the worst criminals and gave Him the centre cross, to announce Him as the worst of the three.
- Alone. They suffered for their own crimes; He suffered for ours, and no one shared the work of redemption with Him.
- Dividing. The two men who hung beside Him became the picture of all humanity, split by one question: in or out of Christ.
And when they came to the place which is called Skull, there they crucified him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, the other on the left.
Luke names the place, states the death in three words, and sets two condemned criminals on either side. The name, the manner of death, and the company each carry meaning.
Luke gives the plain meaning of the site, not the local name. Older English Bibles used a Latin word instead.
"Skull," that is, Golgotha — a name avoided, like Gethsemane and others, in view of Gentile readers. "Calvary" in the Authorized Version comes from the Latin Vulgate.
One writer reads that grim name as a picture of what man has come to.
Now, Calvary means "the place of a skull" — a sign of the end of humanity on its own side. This is what man is reduced to, an empty skull. If you look at him in his natural state, he is morally nothing but a sightless skull. What emptiness marks man in his own condition at his best. It seemed fitting that they should come to this place, Calvary.
The place that exposed what man is became the place where God's love came down.
Calvary was a witness to the moral condition of the whole world, and also to the love and grace that would come down to the very place where the ugliness of sin was displayed, to triumph over it there. From the skull of Calvary springs the beauty of the resurrection — not only for the Son of God, over whom death had no power, but for the whole family of the redeemed who are risen with Christ, eternally beyond the power of death to spoil or disfigure.
(Ridout, Notes on the Four Gospels — see the passage.)
The word "cross" sounds familiar and safe today. One writer insists on facing what the object really was.
We speak of the cross, and God speaks of the cross; but I sometimes think there is very little grasp of what the cross means. The cross has become a fashionable ornament in the Christian world. People decorate themselves with it. Yet what was the cross but a gallows, the Roman way of carrying out the death penalty — a cruel, shameful, scornful, hateful kind of death? ... Hanging was not the Jewish way of punishing criminals. The Old Testament shows that when the Jews put an offender to death, he was stoned. But to be hanged, to be put on a gallows, was a Gentile way of execution. That is why they handed Christ over to the Romans.
Scripture itself refuses to linger over the physical horror.
We are spared the pain of the details of the actual killing of the blessed Sufferer. It is described in brief words: "They crucified Him." We know from other Scriptures that it was by nailing Him to the cross. The cross was lifted up from the earth with Him hanging on it, hanging on the tree.
His enemies did not place the two criminals at random. They planned it for the greatest possible insult.
That morning they searched the prison cells of Jerusalem for the most degraded of all the criminals the city held. They led them out to die along with Jesus. These men had been guilty of appalling crimes. That is why they chose them to hang one on His right hand and the other on His left. That is why they put Him on the centre and highest cross. By this deliberate and malicious plan they meant to announce that He was the worst of the three. In this way they heaped shame on Him, adding the deepest insult to the deepest injury.
His companions that day were criminals. That guarded a truth: only one Person did the work of redemption.
But I am glad that men like these, and not James and John, were taken to be His companions that day. In this the devil showed his lack of foresight, and in this he was outwitted. Suppose they had crucified the sons of Zebedee, one on His right hand and the other on His left. Then people would have said that they were helping Him to finish His work of redemption... Those murderers who hung with Him could have no part in the work He was doing. They were suffering for their own crimes; He, the sinless One, for yours and mine.
The two men beside Him did not end the same way.
To humiliate the Lord Jesus, they crucified Him between two robbers, and in this way they numbered Him with the transgressors... Luke 23:39-43 shows us that God's sovereign power and grace was over this. He used it to bring one of these men to genuine repentance and faith in the Lord Jesus. He used it also to show the solemn fact that Christ crucified is the great Divider between the lost and the saved.
One preacher pressed the same balance on his hearers as he closed his Bible:
Remember, one robber was saved, so none need despair; but — only one, so none may presume.
- The place. "The Skull" is Golgotha; "Calvary" came into English from the Latin. The name pictures what man is reduced to on his own.
- The death. Scripture states the crucifixion in three words and spares us the details. The cross was a gallows, a Gentile execution, not an ornament.
- The insult. They picked the worst criminals they could find and put Him on the centre cross, to brand Him the worst of the three.
- The work. No companion could share it, so redemption is His alone.
- The divide. Of the two beside Him, one was saved, so none need despair; only one, so none may presume.
And Jesus said, Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do. And, parting out his garments, they cast lots.
Jesus' first words from the cross ask forgiveness for the men killing Him, while the soldiers at His feet gamble for His clothes. Who did He ask the Father to forgive, in what sense were they ignorant, and was the prayer answered?
Luke's account of the crucifixion has a character of its own. It leaves out the agony and the sorrow, and it opens and closes with the Lord speaking to His Father.
But in this gospel we find no trace of that agony and sorrow on the cross. He had already gone through it all in spirit with God, so He is above it all. Luke shows us, more than any other gospel, the perfection of Christ as Man. He is so far above His circumstances that He is taken up with others. His first word on the cross is, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Then He can turn to the poor thief at His side and say, "Today you will be with Me in paradise." And His last word is, "Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit."
The timing matters. This prayer came at the end of everything men had done to Him, not at the beginning.
He did not pray this prayer at the start. He prayed it after He had served among them for three and a half years. He had shown them His most wonderful love, in words no one could better. He had blessed their children and fed them when they were hungry. He had healed the sick and cleansed the leper. He had opened the eyes of the blind and raised the dead. Then they spat on His scarred face. They tore His back with the whip and crowned His head with thorns. They nailed Him to a cross. That was not enough for them: they sat down to watch Him suffer, to gloat over His pain and to mock Him. The tide of man's hatred rolled over Him, wave upon wave. It was then that His voice rose above the storm.
The prayer does not pretend the crime was small. It asks the Father to weigh their act in a particular way.
The men crucifying Him were in the process of committing the greatest crime ever. They had plenty of evidence of who the Lord Jesus was, and they rejected Him with their eyes open. They were responsible for what they did. But the Lord Jesus, in infinite grace, says the words "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." Their hatred made them blind. They did not see how deep their guilt was, or what their actions really meant. So the Lord treats them as ignorant men, as men who killed by accident and not as murderers. Through this prayer He was opening the city of refuge to them (Numbers 35).
A city of refuge was a safe place for a man who killed by accident, not on purpose. Their not knowing was never a defence they could have used themselves. It is the reason He had to pray at all.
They did not know what they were doing, so He prayed for them. But their ignorance could never clear them in God's sight. That is why the Lord had to plead for them… God can be gracious, but He could not pass over a man's wrongdoing. The same is true of those who crucified His Son. By His prayer the Lord showed what their guilt was. At the same time He offered up Himself as the true sacrifice and asked the Father to forgive them.
This prayer did not go unanswered.
The prayer of Jesus as they crucified Him was completely unexpected. That prayer was answered about fifty days later. Peter preached salvation through the risen Christ in Jerusalem, and 3,000 people ran for that refuge. The prayer was unusual because it was the fruit of such divine compassion as had never come to light before.
Luke puts the second half of the verse right there on purpose.
They heard His prayer, yet they did not stop what they were doing. The very next sentence reads, "and they cast lots to divide His garments." By telling it this way, the writer brings out the sharp contrast between His spirit and theirs. He was thinking of others. The soldiers wanted only what they could get, so they took their share of His clothes. The chief priests and the people took the chance to show the bitter hatred in their hearts.
Later, a man named Stephen was stoned to death. He prayed in the same spirit, but not with the same words.
Later Stephen, when he was stoned to death, prayed in a similar way. But he could not say that the Jews did not know what they were doing. He said only, "Lord, do not hold this sin against them" (Acts 7:60). Stephen had told the Jews plainly that this same Jesus whom they had crucified was now raised by the power of God. That was the proof of God's approval of Him. Yet the Jews still rejected Him, even though He was risen from the dead.
- Cause — Men answered years of His kindness with a cross, and out of that came this prayer.
- Plea — Their blindness was real but not a defence; He named their guilt and asked forgiveness for it anyway.
- Refuge — He treated them as men who killed without knowing, so a city of refuge stood open to them instead of a murderer's sentence.
- Answer — Fifty days later, three thousand fled into that refuge when Peter preached the risen Christ in Jerusalem.
- Echo — Stephen died praying in the same spirit. The first word from the cross lives on in those who follow Him.
And the people stood beholding, and the rulers also [with them] sneered, saying, He has saved others; let him save himself if this is the Christ, the chosen one of God.
Commentary for this verse has not been generated yet.
And the soldiers also made game of him, coming up offering him vinegar,
The soldiers were the last to join the mockery at the cross. It had already begun with the rulers. Their gesture — holding cheap sour wine out to a dying man — was cruelty dressed up as kindness. Their taunt reveals what they thought He was, and His refusal to act on it reveals what He had come to do.
Luke lines up the mockers in order: the people watching, the rulers sneering, then the soldiers. One writer points out that no single group can take the blame. Every kind of person was there.
In every respect the Word of God came true, and the ways of men were laid bare. This was not a matter of one class and its own habits. High and low, the ruled and the rulers, civil and military — all played their part. And the part they all played was hatred against God, who was revealing His love and goodness in His Christ.
The drink named here is not table wine. Writers distinguish two separate offerings made at the cross — one He turned down and one He took.
They offered the Lord vinegar mixed with myrrh or gall, and He refused it. But He did take the vinegar after He had said, "I thirst." This matched the prophecy, "for my thirst they gave me sour wine to drink." Ps. 69:21; Matt. 27:34, 48.
Kelly explains the word behind the drink, and why He refused the first cup:
The matching passage in Matthew 27:34 seems to show that the wine here was a cheap, sour drink — the word translated "vinegar". The mixing with myrrh was meant to dull the senses, and the Lord refused that cup.
Notice the change in wording. The rulers challenged Him as "the Christ of God." The soldiers used a political title: "the King of the Jews."
The soldiers in fact join the Jews in their insults. They look only at the question of worldly power, and say: "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." They stand only on the outside of the evil, and they publicly witness the fall of the people.
Read verses 35 to 39 together, and the same demand comes from three directions.
And now the cry of salvation begins to ring out, though in mockery. "He saved others," say the rulers; "let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ, the chosen of God." Even the soldiers take it up in their own way: "If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself." And then one of the robbers puts together what cannot go together: "If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us." These things really cannot be joined.
The soldiers set Him a test: prove the title by saving Himself. His refusal is the reason anyone is saved at all.
The soldiers mocked Him too. They came to Him, offered Him vinegar, and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." Again that awful if. They wanted Him to prove He was the King of the Jews by saving Himself. But He would not do that. He would not save Himself, so that He might be able to save others like you and me. Unbelief doubted the inscription, "This is the King of the Jews"; faith accepted it, then and now.
Kelly draws the same line, and shows where it leads:
It was because He was the King of the Jews, as no one else ever has been or can be, that He did not save Himself. And so He can send out the message of salvation now, and bring salvation later.
Earlier He had prayed for the forgiveness of those killing Him. The mockery here is the immediate answer He received.
What effect did the prayer for forgiveness have on anyone who heard it? The soldiers, set on personal gain, cast lots for His clothes. The rulers scoffed at Him. The soldiers mocked Him too. They offered Him vinegar in mockery and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." The people "stood by, watching." So who had been moved by that prayer? No one that we read of.
- Everyone. Rulers, soldiers, onlookers, criminals — high and low, the ruled and the rulers, all played their part. No one group carries the blame alone.
- Sour wine. The drink offered here is cheap vinegar. He refused the earlier cup mixed with myrrh, which was meant to dull the senses. Later He took the plain sour wine, and Psalm 69:21 came true.
- "Save yourself." The same demand comes three times — from rulers, soldiers and a robber. Each one turns His real work into a joke.
- He refused. He would not come down, "just that He might be able to save others like you and me." The refusal was the salvation.
- The title stood. The soldiers threw the title at Him as an insult. The inscription over Him stated it as fact: "This is the King of the Jews." Unbelief doubted it; faith accepts it.
and saying, If *thou* be the king of the Jews, save thyself.
The soldiers at the cross join the rulers in mocking Jesus. They hold out vinegar and dare Him to prove His title by saving Himself. Their taunt raises the question the whole scene turns on: why would a man with power to come down stay there?
Just before this, Jesus prayed for forgiveness. One writer asks what that prayer produced in the people standing around Him.
But what effect did the prayer for forgiveness have on any who heard it? The soldiers, intent on personal gain, cast lots for His garments. The rulers scoffed at Him. The soldiers, too, mocked Him. The rulers said, "He saved others; let him save himself, if this is the Christ of God, His chosen." The soldiers offered Him vinegar in mockery and said, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." The people "stood watching." Who, then, had been moved by that prayer? No one that we read of.
The mocking was not the habit of one group. Everybody present took a turn.
In every respect the Word of God was fulfilled, and the ways of men laid bare. It was no question of a class and its peculiar habits. High and low, the governed and the governors, civil and military — all played their part. And the part they all played was hatred of God, who was revealing His love and goodness in His Christ. Man's folly was as plain here as God's grace was in the presence of man's wickedness.
The soldiers' mockery turns on one small word. They set their own test for the title.
Again this awful "if." They wanted Him to prove that He was the King of the Jews by saving Himself. But He would not do that; He would not save Himself, just so that He might be able to save others like you and me. Unbelief doubted, faith accepted, then as now, the inscription, "This is the King of the Jews."
The same two words come from the rulers, from the soldiers, and from a criminal dying beside Him.
It is remarkable how all of them repeat this taunt: "Save yourself." It is bitter and trying, but in fact it reveals the perfect selfishness of the human heart. To have power, and not use it to save oneself, was unthinkable to man's mind. Selfishness in the thief could even add "and us" to the taunt. The Jews said, "If he is the Christ, let him save himself." Then came the taunt that insulted the Jews as well as Him: "If you are King of the Jews, save yourself." And the thief spoke like the Jews. All unite in this. But the love of Jesus was undiminished. He did not come to save Himself. He could have saved Himself, but then not others, and He would not have accomplished the perfect and adorable will of His blessed Father.
There is a bitter irony in the vocabulary the mockers chose.
And now the cry begins to ring out, though in mockery, of salvation. "He saved others," say the rulers: "let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ, the chosen of God." Even the soldiers take it up in their own way: "If you are the King of the Jews, save Yourself." And then one of the robbers makes the impossible combination: "If You are the Christ, save Yourself and us." Truly impossible to put these things together.
The soldiers' taunt works on the only level they cared about: worldly power.
The soldiers join the Jews in their insults. They look only at the question of worldly power, and say: "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself." They stand on the outside of the evil, and in public they witness the fall of the people — a people now ungodly.
The title the soldiers throw back at Him is the very reason He stayed on the cross. It will not stay a joke.
He was the King of the Jews, as no one else has been or can be. That is why He did not save Himself. And that is why He can send out the message of salvation now and bring salvation later on. Man in that day gave little weight to what was written over Him in Greek and Roman and Hebrew letters: "This is the King of the Jews." Man wrote it in scorn, yet God will give it all its own force — God, who overrules the will and the wrath of man to praise Him. Through the Crucified, God will bless the world later on, Jew and Gentile, high and low, even as His grace gathers people out of it now.
- Mockery. Rulers, soldiers, onlookers and a dying criminal all took their turn. The prayer for forgiveness moved no one who heard it.
- Condition. The soldiers set their own test: prove the title by saving Yourself. They hung His claim on one word, "if".
- Selfishness. The repeated "save yourself" exposes the human heart. They could not imagine power that a man refuses to use on himself.
- Refusal. He could have saved Himself, but not others as well; His Father's will and His love held Him there.
- Reversal. Because He was the King of the Jews He did not come down. God will give the title written in scorn its full force, and bless the world through the Crucified.
And there was also an inscription [written] over him in Greek, and Roman, and Hebrew letters This is the King of the Jews.
A written charge hung above Jesus at His execution, and it named Him King of the Jews. The man who wrote those words was the governor who had just condemned Him.
Luke places the notice of the inscription after the mockery of the rulers and the soldiers. One writer points out that Pilate wrote the wording himself. He had given way on the greater matter. On this one he would not.
That inscription was Pilate's own writing (John 19:19), and he was set on having his way in it. He had given in to the Jews about crucifying the Lord, but he refused to change the title he had written to put over His head. So Pilate could be firm when he chose to be. "What I have written I have written" (John 19:22) stopped every further protest from the Jews.
Why did Pilate word it that way? One writer sees two motives at work at once, one human and one divine.
Pilate fastens to the cross the Lord's title: "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." Perhaps he did it to annoy the Jews; he certainly did it to carry out the purposes of God. The words hold a double truth — the despised man from Nazareth is the true Messiah.
Each Gospel reports the sign in different words. Put side by side, the four are not rivals but parts of one sentence.
Matthew: "This is Jesus the King of the Jews" (27:37). Mark: "The King of the Jews" (15:26). Luke: "This is the King of the Jews" (23:38). John: "Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews" (19:19). In full: "This is Jesus of Nazareth the King of the Jews."
Luke's short form has a sting in its word order.
"The King of the Jews, this!" The tone of contempt finds fitting expression in Luke; compare Isaiah 53:3.
The ESV does not name the languages here, but older translations of this verse say the sign was written in Greek, Latin and Hebrew. Each language stood for a different sphere of life.
The inscription over His cross was written in the languages of the intellectual world (Greek), the political world (Latin), and the religious world (Hebrew): "This is the King of the Jews." For all of them had united in rejecting Him, and He remained King of the Jews through death itself. God in His sovereign power ordered this clear, decided witness.
The same sign that recorded man's guilt carried something else to every reader.
So men of every class could read in their own language the record of their shared guilt. They could also read a witness to the wonderful love of God, given to them in their own tongue — a small foreshadowing of Pentecost.
The words were meant as scorn. Yet they name the reason He did not save Himself.
He was the King of the Jews as no one else had been or can ever be. That is why He did not save Himself. That is also why He can send out the message of salvation now and bring salvation later on. Men that day gave little thought to the weight of the words written over Him in Greek and Roman and Hebrew letters, "This is the King of the Jews." If man wrote it in scorn, God will give it all its own force — God Who overrules the will and the wrath of man to praise Him.
Pilate wrote it as an accusation. It was the truth, and it still stands.
Despite the hatred of the Jews He received His true title, and it came from a Gentile. There it stood written and could not be changed; and so it is still. Jesus of Nazareth, the despised and rejected One, is the King of the Jews — that is one of His titles. The throne of His father David is His, and in the wider sense He will be the King of kings.
- Written — Pilate wrote the words himself, and he refused to change them: "What I have written I have written."
- Mocked — Luke's short form, "The King of the Jews, this!", carries a tone of contempt.
- Published — Greek, Latin and Hebrew named the guilt of three worlds: intellectual, political and religious. Every bystander could read it in his own language.
- Overruled — man wrote it in scorn, and God gave the words their full weight. It was as King that He did not save Himself, so that He could save others.
- Standing — the words could not be changed then, and they still stand. The rejected One holds David's throne and will be King of kings.
Now one of the malefactors who had been hanged spoke insultingly to him, saying, Art not thou the Christ? save thyself and us.
Three men hang on crosses. Luke turns our eyes to the two criminals on either side of Jesus. One of them mocks Him with words that sound like a plea for rescue. His demand raises a question: what does a dying man really need saving from?
Luke tells us about one railing voice, but the other Gospel writers show that this was not one man's sin. Commentators point out that nothing separated the two criminals up to this moment.
Scripture is completely silent about anything of this kind. It is silent about any redeeming or qualifying circumstance. More than that, it gives us the testimony of two inspired witnesses. They prove that right up to the moment when Luke introduces him to us, he was busy in the terrible work of railing on the Son of God, just like his fellow on the other side. In Matthew 27:44 we read, "And the robbers who were crucified with him also reviled him in the same way." So too in Mark 15:32, "Those who were crucified with him also reviled him."
That fact leaves the reader nowhere to hide.
No sorrow, no shame, no suffering brings the heart too low to scorn Jesus; a robber hanging on a cross despises Him! There is an instinct, so to speak, in every unrenewed heart against Jesus. It was not quieted even by that power of love in which He was going down into the deepest humiliation, to suffer the wrath due to sin. Do not say that you are one bit better than this wretched man. In two words, there is no difference. In God's sight you are as bad as the unrepentant thief who railed at Him.
Nothing the man says would strike an ordinary listener as outrageous. Heaven weighed it differently.
There may be the surest reviling of the Saviour without one word that people would consider blasphemous. In this very case the unrepentant robber simply said, "Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!" It was a thought, it was language, not unnatural to a man's mind in such circumstances. It was blasphemy to the mind of the Spirit. He was the promised centre and channel of every blessing for the earth, for man, and for God here below. That such a One should die on a cross did seem beyond measure strange. He had all power to save others, not to speak of Himself. That He should choose to die that way was incredible to the natural mind. Man does not understand how deep the humiliation of Jesus went. He understands the grace of God no better. And he does not understand his own utter need, which both of them measure and meet.
The man does ask to be saved. What he wants saving from is the problem.
Blindly, the robber thought only of being saved from the just sentence of his guilt. His hardened heart showed no concern for the seriousness of his eternal end. It showed no regard for the grace of the Lord Jesus either, who had prayed for the forgiveness of His enemies. He callously refused his last opportunity of forgiveness.
Taken at face value, his demand asks for two things that cannot both happen.
We find that the two robbers proposed something impossible — "Save yourself and us." If He saved Himself, He could not save them. He had to go through it all.
The man beside him asked and received. That fact settles what was available on the third cross.
But what do we see on that third cross? We see an unbelieving sinner. This is the solemn point. We may say without any hesitation what would have happened if he had thrown himself on the grace of the dying Saviour, as his repentant companion did. He would most certainly have met with the same response. There was grace in the heart of Jesus to meet the one as well as the other. But he did not want it, would not have it. He stayed unrepentant and unbelieving until the dark shadows of death gathered round him. Then the darker horrors of hell burst on his guilty soul. He perished within arm's length of the Saviour and salvation.
- Same start. Matthew and Mark say both robbers reviled Jesus. Nothing set one above the other.
- Same instinct. That scorn lives in every unrenewed heart. No reader stands above the man who mocked.
- Same grace offered. The grace the repentant robber received was within the other's reach too. He did not want it.
- A different asking. One asked only to escape the sentence his guilt deserved. The other threw himself on the grace of the dying Saviour.
- A different end. He perished within arm's length of the Saviour and salvation. Jesus could not save Himself and save others; He went through it all.
But the other answering rebuked him, saying, Dost *thou* too not fear God, thou that art under the same judgment?
Two criminals hung beside Jesus, and both began by mocking Him. Then one turned on the other, and his first words were about God, not about his crime.
Nothing in this man's record marks him out as the better of the two. One writer puts the case bluntly.
This is conclusive. It proves, beyond all question, that there was no difference between the two thieves. They were both condemned criminals. And more than that: right at the edge of eternity, both were busy with the terrible sin of reviling the blessed Son of God.
The change came fast, and one writer traces it to what the man saw hanging next to him.
What then produced such an entire change of feeling in the man? Faith. Yes, it always produces repentance when it is genuine. Faith makes a man willing to see sin as he never saw it before, and makes him see it because God is revealed to him. We never can see sin, except through the cross of Christ, in the light of God. It was Christ crucified who brought the light of God into the man's conscience. How exceedingly sinful his sins must have been, to bring down the Son of God to die for them!
His question is not "aren't you ashamed of yourself?" It reaches past the crime to the One the crime was against.
When God has dealt with the conscience, we make no more promises for the future. Unlike the naughty child who says, "I'll be better tomorrow," the soul confesses sin today. "Do you not fear God?" is the word — not "Are you not ashamed of being a thief?"
Where does such fear come from? One writer says grace alone, since no one is born with it.
Moral alienation marks the whole human family, so such fear of God is the fruit of divine grace alone. The dying thief shows this clearly. At first he mocked the Son of God in the hour of His suffering. Yet soon we hear him say to his fellow, "Do you not fear God?" As he drew near to eternity, God rose up before his soul and reverent awe filled him.
He does not claim a better position than the man he corrects. What changed in him showed at once, without any teaching.
It is deeply interesting to see that a newborn soul discerns according to God. It does so by instinct, through the new nature, where no one had given or received any formal teaching. The converted robber at once warns his unrepentant fellow of his sin and sets his danger before him. He confesses his own natural state, his own life and ways no less evil than the other's. And in the most serious and feeling way he defends the glory of the Lord Jesus. … There they were, "under the same sentence," as a fact, but how different in God's eyes!
By ordinary reckoning he had no right to speak. He was condemning behaviour he had joined in only hours earlier.
He rebukes his fellow criminal for doing the very thing he had done himself just before. He had only just stopped doing it. As men count it, this was inconsistent. Quite so. When conscience comes into God's presence and has the light of life, it acts in a way people would call very inconsistent. He was inconsistent as a man, but consistent as a saint. … This true taste of what sin is differs completely from the dread of sin's consequences.
It would be easy to read his honesty as the reason God accepted him. One writer shuts that door firmly.
Here are the accents of genuine repentance. … He felt and owned that his sentence was just, and that he was only reaping what his deeds deserved. Was there anything meritorious in this? By no means. It was the judgment of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. … It was the fruit of the Spirit's work in his soul, and enabled him to appreciate God's salvation. … It is impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.
- Same crime. Both robbers began by mocking Jesus; nothing in the penitent one made him the better man.
- Same sentence. He admits he is under the same judgment. His rebuke claims no higher ground than the man beside him.
- Different light. Faith came in through the crucified Christ, and light showed him his sin as God sees it.
- Fear first. His first concern was not shame over theft but reverence toward God. Grace alone produces such awe.
- No merit. His self-condemnation was the Spirit's work in him. It opened his eyes to salvation, but never earned it.
and *we* indeed justly, for we receive the just recompense of what we have done; but this [man] has done nothing amiss.
The two men crucified beside Jesus start out the same way, but one of them breaks rank. His words to his fellow criminal confess something about himself and declare something about Christ. How did a dying robber come to see either thing so clearly?
The first half of his sentence points at himself, and it holds nothing back. One writer traces the confession to what he was looking at:
Listen to his dying words: "And we indeed justly ... but this man has done nothing wrong." It was the tremendous contrast between himself and Christ that forced the confession — "We indeed justly." There was no excuse, no explaining away. He does not try to make the guilt look smaller. He does not complain that the sentence was too harsh. He does not argue that his position is unjust.
Notice what he asks his companion, and what he does not ask.
In the case of the repentant thief, we see the first touch of the Eternal Spirit in the words he addressed to his fellow: "Do you not fear God?" This is the very earliest fruit of His sanctifying work. He does not say, "Do you not fear punishment?" ... A person may fear judgement, fear hell, and fear the consequences of sin, without the smallest particle of hatred of sin itself. But where the Spirit of God is really at work in the heart, He produces a real sense of sin and of God's judgement of it.
He admitted that he deserved his sentence. That was right, but it bought him nothing. The same writer is careful here:
Here are the accents of genuine repentance: "we indeed justly." He felt and owned that his condemnation was just, and that he was reaping only "the due reward of our deeds." Was there any merit in this? By no means. It was the judgement of himself, the condemnation of his ways, the sense of his guilt. And this was right. It was the sure forerunner of conversion to God... It is utterly impossible that the sense of guilt could ever form the basis of righteousness.
The second half of the verse is astonishing, because this man had no way of knowing Christ's record. He vouches for all of it anyway:
"This man has done nothing wrong." He would vouch for the whole life of Christ. On the contrary, this was a divine revelation to the soul. What Christian would not lay down his life for this? ... It was a divine revelation of the perfection of Christ's Person. Could your soul answer for Christ in that way? Here is a man who does so when everybody is deserting Jesus: here is divine faith that He was perfectly sinless.
Another writer hears in the same words a work that reached inside the man, not just outside him:
Most certainly, no soul was ever saved except by a work done for him — and Jesus alone did that work... But where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul... There was more than righteousness here. There was a sense of grace, as well as of sin, and a sensitivity to God's will. There was delight in "this man," Jesus. His holiness made such an impression that the poor criminal, now a believer, could challenge all the world.
His verdict was not just accurate on the day; it marks Christ off from the entire human race:
The light that shone into his soul was not vague and ill-defined, but clear and distinct. It was the light of a contrast between the Christ of God and himself... "This man has done nothing wrong" will be loudly proclaimed as true of Christ alone in the glory... In all Adam's race, from Eden down to the setting up of the great white throne, only one ever fitted this description — the seed of the woman. Of no one else could it truly be said, "This man has done nothing wrong."
Seeing the contrast is not the end. It is the reason he turns and asks:
I think I hear that poor dying thief saying to his neighbour: "You and I never did a right thing. Here is a Man who never did a wrong thing. I am going to trust that Man." His faith found expression in the prayer: "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."
- Light — One sentence, two halves, one beam of light. It shows him what he is, and it shows him who Christ is.
- Fear — The Spirit's first fruit here is fear of God, not fear of punishment. Dreading consequences is not the same as hating sin.
- Justly — He makes no excuse and disputes no part of his sentence. Yet honest self-condemnation earns nothing: guilt can never be the basis of righteousness.
- Nothing wrong — He never watched Christ live, yet he vouches for that whole life. Divine revelation showed it to him, while everyone else deserted Him.
- Alone — Of all Adam's race, only one Man ever fitted that description. The man who saw it turned to Him and asked to be remembered.
And he said to Jesus, Remember me, [Lord,] when thou comest in thy kingdom.
One man hanging beside Jesus, dying for his own crimes, looked at a bleeding figure on a cross and addressed Him as a King with a kingdom still ahead of Him. Everything in sight said the opposite. Commentators treat his short prayer as one of the most remarkable acts of faith in the Bible.
Nothing visible supported what this man said. His confidence rested on something he had been taught inwardly, not on what his eyes reported.
Here is every mark of conversion, and of the most remarkable faith. The fear of God, the beginning of wisdom, is there; conscience upright and vigorous. He knew the perfect sinless righteousness of Christ as man. He owned Him as the Lord when His own disciples had abandoned and denied Him, and when there was no sign of His glory or of the dignity of His Person. Men counted Him as one of themselves. His kingdom was only a subject of scorn to all. But the poor thief is taught of God; and all is plain. He is as sure that Christ will have the kingdom as if He were reigning in glory.
Some translations read "in your kingdom" instead of "into your kingdom." One writer builds his point on that wording, and also notes what the man did not ask for.
He did not ask for any sacrifice to be offered on his behalf. His prayer tells us that he did not feel the need of it. The Lord's answer shows us there was no need of it. "Remember me when you come in your kingdom," not into, but in — that is, in the royal splendour and power which belonged to Him who was then, and is still, the King.
The other criminal wanted rescue from the cross. This one, in the same agony, asked for none.
As soon as he has finished his witness to the other thief, his heart turns to Christ by instinct. How undistracted he was! Was he thinking of his pain? Or of the people around the cross? He was completely taken up, as always happens when a person is aware of God's presence. To all appearances he was completely helpless. Yet he heard the Shepherd's voice, and knew Him as the Saviour and King. … The other criminal thought only, if he thought at all, of being rescued right now. This one saw the sufferings of Christ, and the glory that should follow.
One writer looks past the work done for this man to the work done in him, and traces its order.
Where the heart knows the work done for the soul, there is a work done in that very soul. So it was with this man. Even though it all happened so fast, the Spirit of God has given us the great moral marks of it. First of all appears a hatred of sin in the fear of God; then the repentant heart rebukes the shameless evil of his fellow.
A convicted robber asked the King of kings to keep him in mind. That was a bold thing to ask.
He does not ask for a part in His kingdom, but to be remembered by Jesus then. What! He, a robber, to be remembered by the King of kings and Lord of lords? Even so. He was right, and those who would judge him wrong are wrong themselves. They do not enter, as he did, into the glory of Jesus, Who calls His own sheep by name now, and Who, when that day comes, will not forget the last any more than the first, in the perfection of His love. … Others might put up the sign over the Crucified without faith. But the name and kingdom of the Crucified were written on the converted robber's heart.
He asked for a distant day. He was given that same afternoon.
The Lord went far beyond what the crucified criminal expected. He said, "Today you will be with me in Paradise." Later the man would share in the glory of the kingdom. … But meanwhile the Lord would have him with Himself in Paradise. There he would wait with Christ for the time his soul had desired. Such is grace — divine grace. It loves to go beyond our desires, and to bless according to the heart of the Giver rather than the need we put into words.
Another writer looks at what this man's words meant to Christ Himself:
What a balm for the heart of Christ that was! What a blessed, wonderful cheer from God for the heart of His own Son.
- Taught — God taught him, so he was sure of the kingdom when nothing in sight backed him up. Even Christ's own disciples had gone, yet he owned Him as Lord.
- Turned — the work inside him came out in a clear order. First the fear of God and a hatred of sin, then an open rebuke of the evil beside him.
- Asked — he wanted no relief from his pain and no sacrifice for his sin. He asked one thing: that the King in His royal power would remember him.
- Answered — grace gave more than he asked for. Not a distant day but that same day, and not only remembrance but Christ's own company.
- Comforted — the prayer that owned Him as King was a balm to the heart of God's own Son as He hung there.
And Jesus said to him, Verily I say to thee, Today shalt thou be with me in paradise.
Two criminals hung on crosses beside Jesus. One of them asked to be remembered when Jesus came into His kingdom. The answer names a time, a place, and a companion.
The dying man looked ahead to a coming kingdom.
The dying robber prayed the Lord to remember him when He should come in His kingdom. Jesus said, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." So He offers a blessing beyond and better than the one he asked for. To the renewed mind it is a dearer prize than any outward display, however glorious: the joy of being that very day with Christ Himself, where the Father delights to love and honour the Son.
Some move the punctuation, so that the Lord only says "I tell you this today." Commentators reject that reading for two reasons.
The usual way of handling this text is to change the punctuation. They would have us read the words like this: "Truly I say to you today: you shall be with me in Paradise." They make it mean, "today, this day of my humiliation, I say to you." But the word order in the sentence is all against them... Besides this, the Lord is answering a prayer in which the thief named a time when he wished to be remembered... The Lord says in effect, "You shall not wait for that: today you shall be with Me."
The word has a background outside the Bible.
A word on paradise. It is Greek, and said to be derived, whether rightly or not, from the Persian, and is used of an enclosed garden or pleasure park (Song 4:13; Neh. 2:8). In the New Testament it occurs as a description of the present place of the saints who are out of the body (Luke 23:43; 2 Cor. 12:4), and also of their future place of bliss, in which the tree of life will be found (Rev. 2:7)... Paul clearly distinguishes it from the third heaven.
Commentators differ here. Another writer reads Paul's account as naming one and the same place.
Paradise is identified with the third heaven by Paul in 2 Corinthians 12. In Revelation 2:7 the Tree of Life is there, a reminder of the earthly paradise, but filling the whole scene.
The circumstances of this conversion rule out every other explanation for it.
So we see how brightly grace shines in the salvation of the thief on the cross. There can be no possible mistake about him. Clearly he had no good works to trust in. He had done no deeds of charity. Of baptism and the Lord's Supper he knew nothing... For what could he do? Where could he turn? His hands and his feet were nailed fast to a criminal's cross.
So is his case an exception, or the rule?
The thief is an example, not of extraordinary faith, nor of an unusual way of saving sinners, but of the only way. I believe God has singled him out to give us an example, free of any later details. It shows us that the title to heaven and the fitness for heaven are both given the moment the sinner believes... There was no need of any preparation for Paradise beyond the preparation which divine grace gave him.
The promise settles what happens to a believer between death and the raising of the body.
A similar truth appears later in the case of the converted thief. The point there is just the same — immediate blessedness, not just later, when the body is raised from the dead. That is what he looked for when he asked to be remembered at the coming of Jesus in His kingdom. But the Lord adds more — immediate blessedness now.
Of the three parts of the promise, one carries the weight.
How did the saved thief enter heaven? With Christ, and in all His perfectness... He was not merely to be inside the door, but with Christ, wherever that might be. Oh, these blessed words "with me"! They settle and define everything about our heaven.
One question remains: who speaks like this?
"Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise." Who is this, coming out with His "Amen" when He is about to die? Who is this whose eye could, before closing in death, turn on a poor sinner and send a ray of glory into his soul?
- Asked — He prayed for a place in a future kingdom; the answer gave him something better and sooner.
- Today — Word order and the man's request both tie "today" to the promise, not to the speaking of it.
- Paradise — A garden of delight; used of the present home of departed saints and of the future scene where the tree of life stands.
- Fitness — Hands nailed down, no works, no rites; title and fitness for heaven arrived the moment he believed.
- With Me — Not merely inside the door but in Christ's own company, and that on the very day he died.
And it was about [the] sixth hour, and there came darkness over the whole land until [the] ninth hour.
Darkness covers the land for three hours at the brightest part of the day, while Jesus hangs on the cross. Two questions follow. What could cause it? And what was God saying by it?
The "sixth hour" sounds odd today because Luke counts the hours from six in the morning. Set against a modern clock, the day falls into place.
It is important to see that John (as throughout his Gospel) gives Roman time. He counts from midday and midnight, as we do. The other Gospels give Jewish time, counted from six o'clock. So we have these times connected with the crucifixion: 6 a.m. — Pilate sits down "on the judgment seat at a place called The Stone Pavement" (John 19:13). 9 a.m. — (the "third hour," Mark 15:25) the Lord was crucified. 12 midday to 3 p.m. — (the "sixth" to the "ninth" hour) the three hours of darkness. 3 p.m. — Jesus died.
It was the time of full moon, and at full moon a solar eclipse is impossible. That one fact rules out the natural explanation.
Supernatural it certainly was, for it being the time of full moon, there was no eclipse of the sun to account for it. It was, however, in perfect keeping with what was taking place. At the fall of the king of Egypt God declared, "I will cover the heavens and make their stars dark; I will cover the sun with a cloud, and the moon shall not give its light" (Ezek. 32:7). How much more might that literally happen when the Creator was dying on the cross! He is the One who upholds all things by the word of His power. For three hours that mysterious darkness continued. It was the first sign since the Lord's arrest that God was not indifferent to all that was going on. During that time men seem to have been mostly quiet, probably overawed by what was happening.
One writer links this darkness with a rule in the law about making atonement.
At the last stage of this great transaction there is darkness over all the earth. How fitting that it should be so! God and Christ were alone there. Long before, these words pictured this scene: "No one may be in the tent of meeting from the time he enters to make atonement in the Holy Place" (Lev. 16:17). In one sense that darkness pictured the darkness resting on the mind and heart of the nation at that moment. It was the terrible moral darkness that lay on Israel. Yet God surely meant to withdraw His Son in that hour. No eye was to see what passed between Him and Christ when the Blessed One bore the judgment of God against sin.
The lost sunlight was a picture. Something far darker was happening to the One on the cross.
From the sixth hour (noon), with the sun in mid-heaven, to the ninth, there was darkness over all the land. Three full hours — this suggests the full measure of the cup of wrath poured out to Him. "God is light," and from our sin-Bearer the light is absolutely withdrawn. The eclipsing of the sun was only a figure of a more awful eclipse upon the soul of the holy Son of God.
The death of God's Son was too great an event to leave the world as it was.
God would not let so great an event as the death of His Son leave the world unaffected. He had made that world. Nor would He leave untouched the legal system He had set up through Moses among His earthly people.
In the temple a heavy curtain shut off the inner room, called the holiest. What closed over Christ opened for everyone else.
The three brightest hours of the day were darkened, as the sun was veiled. There was something very fitting in this, for the true "Sun of Righteousness" was bearing our sin at that time. A divine hand also tore the veil of the temple. This showed that the day of the visible temple system was now over, and that the way into the holiest was about to be made known — see Hebrews 9:8. Our true "Sun" was veiled for a moment, enduring our judgment, so that there might be no veil between us and God.
- Hour — Luke counts from sunrise. The sixth hour is noon and the ninth is three in the afternoon. The brightest stretch of the day turned darkest.
- Cause — No eclipse is possible at full moon. This darkness was God's own act, the first sign since the arrest that He was not indifferent.
- Cover — No one could be in the tent of meeting while atonement was made. So God screened the cross. No eye saw what passed between Him and His Son.
- Cost — The lost sunlight pictured a deeper loss. God's light was withdrawn from the One bearing our sin, and three hours measured the full cup.
- Consequence — The true Sun was veiled for a moment and the temple curtain tore. Now no veil stands between us and God.
And the sun was darkened, and the veil of the temple rent in the midst.
Two signs stand together in this verse. The sun's light fails at midday. The curtain that shut off the innermost room of the temple is torn. Both come from God's hand, and both say something about the death of Jesus.
The date of the crucifixion rules out any natural cause, as one writer explains.
He was crucified at the third hour. Everything we have read of happened before the sixth hour, which is noon. Then a supernatural darkness covered the land — the sunlight failed, as some translations render it. It certainly was supernatural. It was the time of full moon, so no eclipse of the sun could explain it. That mysterious darkness lasted three hours. It was the first sign since the Lord's arrest that God was not indifferent to all that was going on.
The darkening and the tearing belong together. One writer shows the exchange between them.
The three brightest hours of the day went dark, because the sun was veiled. There was something very fitting in this, for the true "Sun of Righteousness" was bearing our sin at that time. God's own hand also tore the veil of the temple. This showed that the day of the visible temple system was now over, and that the way into the holiest place was about to be made known — see Hebrews 9:8. Our true "Sun" was veiled for a moment, enduring our judgment, so that there might be no veil between us and God.
No falling masonry or shaking ground tore the curtain. What it stood for ended with it.
The veil of the temple, which marked out the whole system of the Jewish religion, was also torn from top to bottom. No earthquake did this, and no other physical cause. The natural light disappeared, and Judaism vanished, so that a new and true light might shine, giving anyone who saw it free entry into the holiest place of all.
Luke's wording is not quite the same as Matthew's and Mark's. Where the ESV has "torn in two," older translations read "in the midst." Matthew and Mark add "from top to bottom." One writer finds meaning in the difference.
Matthew and Mark both write that the veil was torn in two from top to bottom (Matthew 27:51; Mark 15:38). That speaks of God coming out to meet man as a Saviour God. But in Luke 23:45 the veil is said to be torn "in the midst." This surely means that the legal system of Judaism, in which there was no access to God, had been set aside in the death of Christ, so that by that same death men might have access to God in an entirely new system.
Who tore it matters, and so does what people have tried to do since.
God had said that He would dwell in thick darkness. But He dwells in it no longer. Before, God was hidden, though He acted. He stayed hidden behind the veil. But now He reveals Himself in the death of Jesus, and by means of that death. The veil of the temple separated God in His holiness from man, and shut man in his sins out from God. It was torn in two from the top to the bottom — that is, from God to man. The veil was torn in two as soon as Jesus died. But people in our day want to put it up again, to put God in the darkness and man at a distance from Him.
Luke names the tearing before he reports the death. One writer answers carefully, without forcing the point.
Luke often leaves the strict order of time. He loves to give us the moral setting or the results of the ways, words or work of the Lord Jesus. But here none of the three Gospels seems to give clear marks that let us say for certain whether the tearing came before or after our Lord's death. In the four Gospels we have God's full and complete account of Christ's atoning work.
Others are firmer. One holds that the tearing happened only after the Lord had died, and that Luke groups the two wonders together and then goes back to tell of the death (C E Stuart). Commentators differ here.
- Darkness. No eclipse can happen at full moon, so the failing sunlight was God's own doing. It was the first sign since the arrest that heaven was not indifferent.
- Exchange. The true Sun was veiled while bearing our judgment, so that no veil would remain between us and God.
- End. A divine hand tore the curtain that stood for the whole Jewish system, and that system passed away with it.
- Access. Luke's "in the midst" marks a legal order with no way in, set aside so that men could approach God in an entirely new way.
- Direction. The tear ran from God to man, not man to God. So every effort to hang that curtain back up puts God in the darkness and man at a distance again.
And Jesus, having cried with a loud voice, said, Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit. And having said this, he expired.
The final words from the cross in Luke are not a cry of abandonment but an address to a Father. Luke alone records them. They raise two questions. What changed between the darkness and this moment? And how could a dying man still speak with full strength and place His own spirit where He chose?
Earlier the other Gospels record a different cry: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" One writer links the change of address to the finish of the atoning work:
Then when all is over, when the great work of atonement is done, and the suffering reaches its furthest point... God hears the cry of the Sufferer, and the answer comes. Christ can say, "You have heard me." The resurrection proved to man that God had heard Christ and accepted the work. Still, Christ Himself knew He was heard and accepted the moment the atoning work was finished. So at once, we learn from the Gospels, the Lord spoke the language of perfect communion.
These are not the words of the atonement itself. One writer marks what they are, and what they are not:
Here there is no cry to God as the forsaken One, when His soul became an offering for sin... Nor does He speak here as the Son, conscious of His own deity, declaring the work finished for which He had come. This is the ever perfect man, Christ Jesus, committing His spirit into His Father's keeping with unwavering confidence... The words here do not express His suffering as the forsaken One making atonement. They express the peaceful departure of His spirit, as man, into the hands of God the Father.
The sentence is not new. Psalm 31:5 says, "Into your hand I commit my spirit." There the sufferer speaks to the LORD — Jehovah, in older translations. One writer notes the one word Jesus changed, and what it opens for believers:
The Lord did not hesitate to take its words for Himself at that moment (Luke 23:46). He only put "Father" in place of "Jehovah," as fitted Him. And now, risen from the dead, He gives us the right to do the same, in the faith of His redemption.
Luke notes that Jesus cried out loudly before speaking. One writer asks why that detail is recorded:
Jesus cried with a "loud voice." Why is that recorded? Why does the Spirit of God dwell on it here? To show that our Lord Jesus Christ kept the full, undiminished, unchanged strength of His manhood. He still had all His powers as a Man. He was not wasted, not worn out with suffering. What He had gone through had not weakened His strength in any way. In the full vigour of perfect humanity He cried with a "loud voice," and said, "Father."
Because His strength was unbroken, His death was not something that happened to Him. One writer sets this against a line from Ecclesiastes:
The wise man of the Old Testament has told us, "No man has power to retain the spirit, or power over the day of death" (Ecclesiastes 8:8). But here is One who had that power. He is able at one moment to lift up His voice with unimpaired strength, and the next moment to deliver up His spirit... Here is One who has full command over His spirit; He delivered it up to His Father, and so He laid down His life.
Luke also records the first words Jesus ever spoke. One writer sets the first beside the last:
His first word was "Father." His last word is "Father"; and between the two the darkness and tempest... Only Luke's gospel records this cry. Luke is also the Gospel that gives His first recorded words, "Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?" (Older translations read "about my Father's business," which is the sense that follows.) That business was finished now, not one bit of it left undone. In the serenity and calm of that knowledge He commends His spirit to His Father and bows His head in death.
Stephen died with almost the same sentence, but not the same verb:
Jesus could say, and He alone could say it rightly, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit."... He could lay down His life and take it up again, so He could speak this way to the Father. But the servant of the Lord could say, rightly and with blessing, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit."
- Finished — Christ completed the atoning work before He spoke this word. That is why the address changes from "My God" to "Father."
- Father — The psalm gave the sentence. Jesus gave the name. Risen, He gives believers the right to use it too.
- Strength — The loud voice proves He did not die of exhaustion; He was in the full vigour of His manhood.
- Command — No one else has power over his own spirit in the day of death; He handed His up as His own act.
- Echo — Stephen could only ask to be received; Christ alone could commit. The dying believer borrows the confidence, not the authority.
Now the centurion, seeing what took place, glorified God, saying, In very deed this man was just.
A Roman officer had just carried out an execution. When it was over, he praised God and called the man he had killed righteous. The ESV translates his word as "innocent"; the writers quoted below use the older wording, "righteous." Luke records the confession in a form found in no other Gospel. Commentators hear in it both the verdict of a startled conscience and the summary of everything this Gospel has said about Jesus.
The officer's verdict is not a stray compliment. One writer treats it as the sentence that gathers up Luke's whole portrait of Jesus:
The main subject of Luke's presentation is the person of the Lord Jesus as Son of Man. He is the true and perfect man. He lived as the only just one among the unjust, and He suffered death for them — on the cross. This is why Luke describes in great detail how the Son of God became man. He tells of His birth, His childhood, His obedience towards Mary and Joseph and His growth in every respect... In no other Gospel do we find the Lord Jesus in prayer and speaking about prayer as often as in this Gospel. In this way He shows His perfect dependence upon His God and Father. The centurion's words under the cross sum up the Holy Spirit's intention in this Gospel: "Certainly this was a righteous man."
The value of the confession lies in who said it and when. Every human court had already reached the opposite conclusion:
The centurion is mentioned here as owning Jesus to be "a righteous man," whatever man might have judged or done.
Matthew reports the same officer confessing Jesus as the Son of God. Luke keeps only this half of what he said, and the choice fits his subject:
Even the centurion in charge of the execution became sure that "certainly this was a righteous Man" (v. 47). Matthew mentions that the centurion and others with him also declared Him to be the Son of God. Luke emphasises His manhood, and so leaves that statement out.
The words came out of a man who had no stake in defending Jesus. That is what makes them so telling:
The Roman centurion stationed there to watch the crucifixion completed is the great witness of the power of the cross on conscience. The effect and power of what his conscience took in through the death of the Lord Jesus Christ forced the almost involuntary testimony from his lips as he gazed at Him: "Certainly this was a righteous Man"... I am bold to say there is no power on earth or in heaven equal to the power of the cross. Its effect on conscience, heart, and affection is beyond man's power to describe.
Commentators differ on how far this went. Some call it the faith of the centurion; another is careful to claim no more than the text says:
The poor centurion was struck by all that had taken place. He confesses that this Jesus whom he has crucified was certainly the righteous man. Such is the power of the cross upon the conscience. I say conscience, because I do not pretend to say that it went any further than that in his case.
The man was an outsider to Israel. One writer sees his place at the front as a sign of what was coming:
Luke records the faith of the Gentile centurion in a different form from the other Gospels: "he glorified God, saying, In very deed this Man was righteous." He is righteous in the full sense, not just by comparison with other men. Everything the centurion has seen proves it. He is prompt and outspoken in his confession. The Gentile takes the first place now, as he has done for many centuries since. He is the first sign of the change that is coming.
His testimony did not stand alone. It closed a chain of statements from people who had every reason to say otherwise:
Testimony to this was borne by the centurion who witnessed the scene because of his official duty... The centurion became a fourth witness to the perfection of Jesus, joining Pilate, Herod and the dying thief.
- Verdict. The officer in charge of the execution called Jesus righteous. Every human court had judged the opposite.
- Full sense. He meant righteous in the full sense, not righteous by comparison with other men. Everything he had watched proved it.
- Conscience. The cross itself forced the confession out of him. Writers differ on whether it went beyond conscience to faith.
- Fourth. He joined Pilate, Herod and the dying criminal as one more witness to Jesus' perfection.
- First. A Gentile was first to speak, taking a place he has held ever since — the early sign of a coming change.
And all the crowds who had come together to that sight, having seen the things that took place, returned, beating [their] breasts.
A crowd gathered to watch an execution and went home striking their own chests. What did they understand, and did their grief last?
They came to see a public death. What they saw worked on them in a way they could not explain. Commentators see the cross reaching the conscience — first the officer in charge of the execution, then the crowd.
There is truly nothing like the cross. Look at what it did here to the conscience of the centurion, and to the crowd. There was this testimony as well: "And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts." They could not understand it at all. Yet it struck them that something had happened beyond the usual order of things. God was pleased in this way to give proof of the power of the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Three men died that afternoon. Only one death produced this reaction.
Was there not in the minds of the crowds a feeling of regret at how the day's events had ended? Were the crowds now quite sure that His execution was just? Were no misgivings beginning to arise? The death of the two thieves caused no such display of emotion. No doubt could exist about the justice of their punishment. But why beat their breasts, if they were equally sure that His was just?
Their consciences knew more than their minds could explain.
The poor centurion was struck by all that had taken place. Such is the power of the cross upon the conscience: he confesses that this Jesus whom he has crucified was certainly the righteous man. I say conscience, because I do not claim it went any further than that in his case. We see the same effect on the spectators: they went away beating their breasts. They perceived that something solemn had happened — that they had fatally compromised themselves with God.
Some writers see in this crowd the very people who had shouted for His crucifixion:
Among the common people too, how different was their attitude from when they were shouting for His crucifixion! They returned from that sight beating their breasts. Their thoughts were solemn and deep, for they realized they had seen what they had never expected, and could never forget.
Nobody in this crowd asks a question or follows Him. Their grief has no light in it, and it does not last.
The people seem conscious that it was all over with them — stricken in heart over a deed they could not help feeling was dreadful, though they hardly defined it. God does not leave man without witness. But this is what usually happens with men who lack the revealed light of God. They know when sin is done that something is deeply wrong, yet they soon forget it. So here, though not without a sense that the case was desperate, they go not only as sheep without a shepherd, but stumble in the dark night.
Striking the chest is self-accusation. One writer names what those chests were missing.
Moreover, the murder that brought ruin robbed man of peace, for at the cross we read that the crowds "returned home beating their breasts." There was no peace in those breasts.
Another writer looks at the same gesture from the side of the watching Jew:
The Jew sees the only Jew of power nailed to a cross, and beats his breast in helplessness, despair, and shame.
- Spectacle. They came to watch a death. They met something beyond the usual order of things.
- Sign. The two thieves drew no such grief. Beating the breast was the crowd's own admission that this death was not like the others.
- Sense. They felt they had fatally compromised themselves with God, without being able to say how or why.
- Silence. No question, no cry for help, no faith — grief without light stumbles home in the dark, and is soon forgotten.
- Shame. Hands struck chests that held no peace — only helplessness, despair, and shame. Remorse alone left them where it found them.
And all those who knew him stood afar off, the women also who had followed him from Galilee, beholding these things.
The crowds have watched Jesus die, and now they go home troubled. Luke then turns to one last group: the people who knew Him best, standing far back and watching in silence.
Luke separates two groups here. The crowds drift away. The others had a personal tie to Jesus — and one writer shows how that tie worked against them.
The masses are troubled (they had no part in the affair, and expect no good from it) and go away. Those who knew Him in a more human way were personally involved, and for that very reason more afraid. They stood far off. The women who had followed Him from Galilee were there, looking on.
They stood back, but not too far to see. The list of what they watched is long.
They stood far off — at a distance, and yet placed so that they could see what was happening. Luke says that "the women who had followed him from Galilee stood at a distance watching these things." We can find out what those things were by comparing the Gospels. The passers-by insulted Him, shaking their heads and saying, "You who destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself. If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." The chief priests, the scribes and the elders mocked Him too. The soldiers divided His clothes by casting lots. Darkness covered the whole land until the ninth hour. Above all there were the cries of the Lord Himself — the first as He endured the forsaking of His God, and the second as He died. Then the earth shook and the rocks split.
John's account of the same hour names a small group who were not at a distance at all. Set the two verses side by side and you see what made the difference.
In Luke 23:49 we read of His followers who "stood at a distance watching these things." But here, standing by the cross, we see "His mother, and His mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene." Warmth of love toward Him is what overcomes fear. John, the writer of this book, is nearby also.
The gap between Jesus and His friends was no accident. Scripture had said it beforehand, and the next few verses of Luke fulfil a second word.
The prophetic writings had said, "You have put lover and friend far from Me" (Psalm 88:18), but they had also said, "He made His grave … with the rich in His death" (Isaiah 53:9). If verse 49 gives us the fulfilment of the one, verses 50-53 give us the fulfilment of the other. In every emergency God has an instrument in reserve to carry out His purpose and fulfil His word.
(The ESV renders Psalm 88:18: "You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me; my companions have become darkness.")
Luke says nothing about what these onlookers felt. One writer asks what such an hour must have done to them.
We need not say how deeply this touched their hearts. But the sight of the cross, and all that happened there, could not fail to leave an eternal impression on those who witnessed it. Might not many have been brought to God at that time?
These women had followed Jesus through His public work and were still there at the end. Their grasp of what was happening was thin — and that is the easy thing to point at.
Some devoted women had followed the Lord during His life on earth and supported Him out of their own money. They receive honourable mention. In love they had followed the Lord through His life of service. They clung to Him in His death on the cross. They watch while His body is laid in the grave. It is easy to dwell on their lack of understanding, while falling far behind them in their devoted love.
- Distance — the ones who knew Jesus best were the ones most afraid. Their closeness to Him is exactly what held them back.
- Sight — standing back cost them nothing of the view. They watched the insults, the mockery, the darkness, and the cries of Jesus as He died.
- Love — the small group standing at the cross itself shows what closes the gap: love for Him is what overcomes fear.
- Prophecy — Scripture foretold even this desertion. Verse 49 fulfils "You have put lover and friend far from Me"; the burial that follows fulfils the grave "with the rich."
- Us — their understanding was poor, their love was not. It is easy to criticise their confusion while never matching their devotion.
And behold, a man named Joseph, who was a councillor, a good man and a just
The crucifixion is over and the disciples have scattered. Then Luke introduces a man we have never met: a member of the ruling council who had refused to go along with the vote against Jesus. Why does this man step forward now, and what does Luke want us to see in him?
Luke calls Joseph "a member of the council." The Greek word behind that phrase names a seat on the Sanhedrin, the Jewish ruling council that had just condemned Jesus.
bouleutes (βουλευτής): a member of the Sanhedrin. Mark 15:43; Luke 23:50.
Luke fills in the man's character, his home town, and his hope.
Luke adds a few other details about Joseph, quite fitting to his Gospel. He was "a good man and a just," one who, as a counsellor, had not agreed to the council's decision and act. His city, Arimathea, is "a city of the Jews" — that is, in Judea. With Mark, Luke tells us that he waited for the kingdom of God.
Joseph had believed for some time without ever saying so publicly. The moment when his fear should have been strongest is the moment his silence broke.
Joseph of Arimathea had waited for the kingdom of God for some time. He was a good man and just, and a real believer, though he had shrunk from confessing the Lord Jesus openly. But now, when fear might have worked more than ever to keep him back, grace made him bold. This, at least, was quite right, and like the God of all grace. If the death of our Lord does not unlock a man's heart and tongue, I do not know what will.
Rank was no advantage here. It was a weight. Stepping forward would cost Joseph his standing among his fellow council members.
Then came Joseph, and he was an honourable man and a counsellor. If he had thought about his reputation among his fellows, he would have stayed at home that day. But he drops every thought of self. The secrecy of his discipleship must end — and that at the very moment when we would have expected him to be most anxious to hide it.
Joseph acts for someone who can no longer thank him, notice him, or repay him. One writer sets this rich man beside the poor widow whose small offering Luke also recorded.
The same writer who in this chapter of his record has recorded the offering of the "poor widow" tells us in another (Luke 23:50 and following) of the loving service given to the Master by one of the rich class spoken of here, "who was looking for the kingdom of God." That service came when He was no longer on the scene to acknowledge it. And we may well suppose that he will have a place in that kingdom.
Joseph's arrival was no accident. Scripture had said long before that this Man would be with a rich man in His death, and God saw to it.
Everything Jesus had been along His path suited God completely. Here we see that God's own care for His body in death was tied to the beauty of His life. Let us not forget it. The Spirit of God did not write carelessly, "with the rich man was his tomb, because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth." I do not think anyone else could be described that way.
Wolston quotes an older translation of Isaiah 53:9. The ESV reads: "And they made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death, although he had done no violence, and there was no deceit in his mouth."
Joseph was not alone that day. Two men buried Jesus in daylight, in front of enemies still burning with hate.
In the face of that fanatical hate, these two disciples paid their homage to our Lord in the full light of day, with no secrecy about it. They buried His holy body with reverence. It was a noble sight, and the record of it soothes and comforts all who love the Lord. Millions of Christians have blessed their names from that day to this. Is it not a witness to secret believers, timid disciples who keep in the shadows, that they should come out boldly into full daylight and confess their Saviour and Lord?
- Held back. Joseph sat on the very council that condemned Jesus. He was a real believer who waited for the kingdom of God, but he kept it quiet.
- Held apart. He refused to agree with the council's decision and act — his conscience was clear before his courage was.
- Made bold. The death that scattered the others unlocked his tongue. Grace brought him out, not his own nature.
- Counted the cost. A man of rank had to abandon every thought of his own reputation to claim the body of a crucified man.
- Honoured by God. He served when the Master could no longer acknowledge it — and through him Scripture came true: Christ was with a rich man in His death.
(this [man] had not assented to their counsel and deed), of Arimathaea, a city of the Jews, who also waited, [himself also,] for the kingdom of God
The men who condemned Jesus acted together, yet one of them had refused to go along. Luke pauses at the burial to name him, to say what he would not join, and to say what he was waiting for.
Each Gospel adds its own line to this man's portrait, and Luke's contribution is the note about his vote.
He is mentioned in each of the Gospels, and each supplies us with some special detail concerning him. Matthew tells us that he was rich and a disciple. Mark calls him an honourable counsellor who waited for the kingdom of God. Luke says he was a good and just man. He had not consented to the decision and deed of the great majority of the Sanhedrin in putting Jesus to death. John admits that he was a disciple, but a secret one for fear of the Jews.
Joseph sat on the council that planned the death of Jesus — the ruling body of the nation.
The second half of the verse names what Joseph was waiting for.
Joseph was a member of the Jewish Sanhedrin, the council guilty of plotting the death of the Lord. But Joseph's character was honorable, and he had not consented to the evil purpose of his fellow council members. But the cross brought him out clearly. He was more than a man who was not against the Lord. He now stood fully on the side of the One whom His own people had murdered. Joseph waited for the kingdom of God. Clearly the death of the Lord Jesus did not stop that hope. Instead, one would say, it brought his faith in a God of resurrection into living action.
Luke's phrase describes a man who stayed out of a wrong. The next verses show him doing more than that.
Now he takes his stand, identifying himself openly with Christ rejected and crucified! Precious energy of faith! This was clearly God's work in his soul.
Joseph steps forward at the moment when everyone else has run.
Split 58-word sentence; restores Nicodemus so the later naming is sourced and a real believer, though he had shrunk back from openly confessing the Lord Jesus. But now, when fear might naturally have held him back more than ever, grace made him bold. If the death of our Lord does not unlock a man's heart and tongue, I do not know what will.
Joseph does not appear by accident. He arrives at the point where a promise about Jesus' grave called for a rich man.
The prophetic writings had said, "You have caused my beloved and my friend to shun me" (Psalm 88:18), but they had also said, "they made his grave … with a rich man in his death" (Isaiah 53:9). If verse 49 gives us the fulfilment of the one, verses 50-53 give us the fulfilment of the other. In every emergency God keeps an instrument in reserve to carry out His purpose and fulfil His word.
Joseph and Nicodemus buried the body of Jesus in daylight, while the hostility was still at full heat.
In the presence of that fanatical hate, these two disciples acted in the full light of day, with no secrecy about it. They paid their homage to our Lord in the reverent burial of His holy body. It was a noble sight, and the record of it is soothing and comforting to all who love the Lord. Millions of Christians have blessed their names from that day to this. Is this not a message to secret believers, the timid disciples who keep in the shadows? They should come out boldly into full daylight and confess their Saviour and Lord.
- Hidden. Joseph was a real believer, but he kept his faith out of sight. Fear of the Jews had held back his confession.
- Refusing. He would not consent to the council's decision and act. He was a good and just man inside a guilty council.
- Waiting. He was looking for the kingdom of God. The death of Jesus did not end that hope; it stirred his faith in a God of resurrection.
- Bold. The cross scattered the others. It made Joseph step out and side openly with the One his nation had murdered.
- Ready. God kept this man in reserve, and the word "with a rich man in his death" came true to the letter.
-- he having gone to Pilate begged the body of Jesus;
A member of the council that had condemned Jesus now steps out of the shadows. He goes to the Roman governor and asks for the body of a crucified man. Nothing about that request was expected: not its timing, not its cost, not Pilate's consent.
The disciples had scattered. No one was left to bury the dead man. One writer notes where the help came from instead.
After death comes burial. How was that to be carried out? The apostles were not there. Who then would perform that last service for the dead? God — and it is interesting to notice it — always has His instruments ready for His work. In this case they came forward willingly, and there were to be two of them, both members of the Sanhedrin. Nobody would have expected that.
Joseph had believed for some time, but kept it hidden. The hour when fear should have silenced him is the hour he spoke.
One disciple had betrayed Him. Another, too sure of himself, had denied Him with oaths. All who should have been faithful had forsaken Him and fled. Those who had once followed Him closely now looked on from a distance, full of sorrow. Yet this was the moment when God gives courage to a man of high station... Joseph of Arimathea had waited for the kingdom of God for some time. He was a good and just man, and a real believer. But he had shrunk from confessing the Lord Jesus in the open. But now, when fear might naturally have kept him back more than ever, grace made him bold. If the death of our Lord does not unlock a man's heart and tongue, I do not know what will.
Joseph made his move when the cause looked finished. One writer weighs what that cost him.
The whole world seemed against Him, and His mission to earth seemed a complete failure. Yet now Joseph stood out as bold as a lion. It was an unheard-of thing that a Jew, and a Jew of high standing, should claim the body of a crucified criminal, for crucifixion was a death kept for the lowest and the worst. He stood alone, against the world. He took his stand by the cross and took its reproach on himself. His act declared that he loved the Man whom the world had rejected.
Joseph's seat on the council makes his action stranger still.
The great work of the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus was finished. No unholy hands were allowed to touch Him again. God had a man prepared to take the burial in hand. Joseph was a member of the Jewish Sanhedrin, the council guilty of plotting the death of the Lord. But Joseph's character was honourable. He had not consented to the evil purpose of his fellow council members. The cross brought him out clearly... Joseph waited for the kingdom of God. The death of the Lord Jesus plainly did not hinder that hope. One would say instead that it brought his faith in a God of resurrection into living exercise.
One writer reads Joseph's request against Isaiah 53:9. He starts with a problem in the usual English wording.
The usual English version of Isaiah 53:9 does not separate the grave and the death of our Lord, so we have to untangle the two. The literal Hebrew is: "He (one) shall appoint His grave with the wicked, but (He shall be) with a rich man in His death." Pilate handed the Lord Jesus over to be crucified as a criminal. In doing that, he was appointing His grave with the wicked. Jesus was crucified between two thieves, so it was natural that His body should be treated like theirs... No such place could be for Him. No one may desecrate the body of God's holy One, so Pilate's arrangement is set aside. Indeed, he himself reverses it by handing the body over to the rich man, Joseph.
Joseph handled the body himself. That put him among the witnesses who could testify that Jesus had truly died.
The centurion was in charge of the crucifixion. The Roman guard carried it out. Above all, one soldier pierced His side. Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus brought the body down from the cross, and they would have found signs of life if there had been any. All of them were witnesses of our Lord's death.
- Prepared — The apostles were gone, but God had His instrument ready: the man nobody would have guessed.
- Emboldened — Joseph had believed long before this. The death of Christ turned his hidden faith into open confession.
- Costly — To ask for the body of an executed criminal was to take the world's contempt on himself, in public.
- Guarded — Once the work was finished, no unholy hand touched Him again. The burial honoured Him. It was not one more insult.
- Fulfilled — Men had assigned Him a criminal's grave. Isaiah's word stood: He was with a rich man in His death. Pilate himself reversed his own arrangement.
and having taken it down, wrapped it in fine linen and placed him in a tomb hewn in the rock, where no one had ever been laid.
The crucifixion is over. The body of Jesus now passes from the men who killed Him to a man who loved Him, and commentators read every detail here — the linen, the rock, the unused tomb — as God's care for His Son between the cross and the resurrection.
The Lord's followers had scattered. At that very moment Joseph of Arimathea stepped forward.
Yet this was the moment when God made bold a man of high station. One disciple had betrayed Him. Another had been too confident and denied Him with oaths. All who should have been faithful had forsaken Him and fled. Joseph of Arimathea had waited for the kingdom of God for some time. He was a good and just man, a real believer, though he had shrunk back from confessing the Lord Jesus in public. But now, when fear might naturally have held him back more than ever, grace made him bold. If the death of our Lord does not unlock a man's heart and tongue, I do not know what will. So this timid Joseph grows valiant in the fight. He goes boldly to Pilate and begs the body of Jesus. When he receives it, he lays it with honour in the rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid.
The burial was not left to the men who killed Him. The writer below quotes Isaiah 53:9 in an older wording; the ESV reads "And they made his grave with the wicked and with a rich man in his death."
It was God's plan, and nothing can frustrate His plans. Isaiah 53:9 should read, "They had made His grave with the wicked." They had dug a rough hole, and into it they would have thrown His precious body along with the decaying bodies of the thieves. But now His work was finished. The insults had to stop. No one was to dishonour Him further — He is "with the rich in His death." His burial is honourable, in the new rock-hewn tomb of an honourable man.
The verse names two materials: cloth and stone. One writer finds each one fitting for who He was.
The body is wrapped in a clean linen cloth, a picture of our Lord's perfect humanity. White linen stands for purity and righteousness, as "the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints." The body is laid in a new tomb, not in the earth. Earth would have looked like a fulfilment of the words "you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Instead He lies in enduring rock that does not crumble — a fitting place for a body that saw no corruption and that death could not hold.
Luke stresses that the tomb had never held anyone. One writer takes this as God guarding His Son from even touching decay.
Only Matthew tells us it was Joseph's own tomb; he also says it was new. Both Luke and John are more emphatic on this point, saying no one had lain there before. The Psalmist had foretold that the LORD would not let His "Holy One see corruption." We all know what that meant: the holy and sacred body of Jesus went through death, yet decay did not touch it in the least. But it also meant that His body should not even come into contact with corruption on the outside. When God fulfils His word, He does so thoroughly and completely.
Another writer draws a personal point from the same detail.
And why a new tomb? Because Christ must always have the first of everything. He will not take the second ride on a donkey, the second place in a tomb, or the second place in your heart or mine.
This grave had held no one before. The usual bond between a tomb and its occupant was missing.
There had never been a tomb like it before, if we judge it by what was laid in it and by what came out of it. Until that hour the grave had stood first among the things that are never satisfied. It had never said, "It is enough." A tomb and what it holds have always had a natural link, for God had said, "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." But this new tomb and its occupant had no such link. The death of Jesus was voluntary. No one took His life from Him; He laid it down Himself. Death had no claim on Him, and so the tomb could not hold Him.
- Fear broken. Joseph believed in secret while Jesus lived. The cross unlocked his tongue, and he asked Pilate for the body.
- Insults ended. Men had a grave among the wicked ready for Him. With His work finished, God gave His Son an honourable burial.
- Purity pictured. Clean linen and solid rock, not earth and dust, match a body that would not decay.
- First place. The tomb had never held anyone else — He takes the first place in everything, including in your heart.
- Held by nothing. The grave had always kept its prey. This time it took in One whom death had no claim on, and it could not keep Him.
And it was preparation day, and [the] sabbath twilight was coming on.
It was Friday afternoon, and Joseph had just laid the body of Jesus in a tomb. Luke stops to fix the hour, and that one detail explains the rushed burial, the silent day that followed, and what the day of Preparation was preparing for.
Luke uses a fixed name from the Jewish calendar, not a general word for getting ready.
The "Preparation" (paraskeue) is the same as the "eve" of the Passover. Jewish writings always use that name for the time from the evening of the 14th of Nisan to the evening of the 15th. It came to mean the Christian's Friday.
Older translations say the Sabbath "drew on"; the ESV says it "was beginning." The Greek word behind the phrase describes light fading, not light breaking.
First, epiphoskouse does not mean only or properly "dawn." Here Friday is sabbaton epephoske, translated "drew on." It was the day before the Sabbath... I learn also from Marsh that the Syriac uses the same word in Luke 23:54 and John 19:31, which is certainly the evening... and this word has the natural meaning of epiphosko. Syriac was the apostles' language.
Kelly warns that this small mistake has caused wide confusion.
It was evening, not morning. Scholars have forgotten the Jewish way of speaking about a day just as much as uneducated people have. Anyone who looks into it can soon see how this mistake has confused the attempts to fit the Gospel accounts together, above all over the timing of the death and the resurrection of Christ.
Some argue for an earlier crucifixion day by supposing an extra festival Sabbath that week. Grant answers from Luke's own wording.
Verse 54 is clear that this day was Friday, called "the preparation," and the Sabbath drew near. Some have imagined that there was more than one Sabbath in the week, and that the crucifixion took place on Wednesday or Thursday. But the Greek article settles it: "the Sabbath." In verse 56 the women rested only "the Sabbath day," not "days."
The closing hour explains the rush: at sunset the Sabbath began, and the work had to stop.
Remember that our blessed Lord was crucified on the Friday, and that the Sabbath began at sunset the same evening. If the ninth hour was three o'clock in the afternoon, Joseph had to move fast. He had to get Pilate's permission, take the body of Jesus down from the cross, and prepare it for burial, so that he could finish the entombment before the Sabbath began. Luke marks this when he says the Sabbath "drew on."
The day's name raises a question: preparation for what? One writer answers that God had His own purpose in the day.
The preparation day, then, began on the Thursday evening at sunset, and lasted until Friday evening sunset. But what was it the preparation for? It was God's preparation day for man — poor, lost, guilty man. God would bring him into eternal rest with Himself: the eternal Sabbath based on redemption... The Sabbath, or rest of creation, had long been lost. Now God set out the Sabbath of redemption. It can never be lost while God is faithful to the claims of the redemption-blood of His Lamb.
Jesus entered that day of rest from inside a tomb. Mackintosh asks what that says about rest.
Christ had no Sabbath when He was upon this earth. True, He finished His work — blessedly, gloriously finished it — but where did He spend the Sabbath day? In the tomb!... Could the Son of God lie in the grave on the seventh day, if that day was meant for rest and peace, with the full sense that nothing was left to be done? Impossible!
The same silence was a message to the nation that had condemned Him.
He lies in the grave all the day which His murderers kept as a day holy to Jehovah... their own Messiah slain by His own people: such was the truth which that Sabbath-day uttered to him who had ears to hear.
- Preparation — The word names the eve of the Passover, a fixed Jewish term that later came to mean Friday.
- Dusk — "Drew on" means evening light fading, not morning breaking. Reading it as dawn has confused the Gospel timelines.
- One Sabbath — The Greek article rules out a second festival Sabbath. Verse 56 has the women resting one day, not several.
- Haste — Sunset would start the Sabbath, so Joseph worked fast to finish the burial in time.
- Rest — The preparation day pointed to the rest that redemption would bring. Jesus spent that Sabbath in the grave, proof that the true rest had not yet come.
And women, who had come along with him out of Galilee, having followed, saw the sepulchre and how his body was placed.
Joseph of Arimathea had just laid the body of Jesus in a tomb, and the light was fading before the Sabbath. Luke does not name the women who followed the body to the grave; he only tells us twice where they came from.
Matthew describes the same group in fuller terms. One writer lines up the two accounts:
Luke only says (and he speaks this way twice): "the women who had followed him from Galilee" (Luke 23:49, 55). But since Matthew includes Mary among those "who had followed Jesus from Galilee, ministering to him" (Matt. 27:55), we know that Mary was one of the group Luke describes.
Following Him to the grave was the last stage of a service that ran through His whole life:
Such was the devoted service of women towards the Lord in life and in death. Personal, loving devotedness shines out here as the special service of sisters.
Only a handful of people watched the burial. One writer counts them:
Angels were surely spectators, but not angels only. The women who had come with the Lord from Galilee followed after, and saw the tomb and how His body was laid. Luke is general in his statement. Matthew and Mark, on the other hand, mention only two: Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses. Two men to bury, two women looking on, mourners in the truest sense — these are the only ones we can name as present at the funeral of the Lord Jesus Christ.
They saw not only where the body lay, but how. Luke's word for the tomb belongs to the body that goes into it — and one writer contrasts it with Hades:
Mnēmeion is spoken of in relation to the body going into it: "saw the tomb and how His body was laid" (Luke 23:55). Hades is never spoken of in relation to the body, for the obvious reason that it has no relation to it.
They had heard His words. Their care over the grave shows how little of them had sunk in:
It was affection, but with little intelligence. Their love lingered over the scene of His death and burial. For the present they did not realize at all the life that would so soon shine out in glory. Had they not heard His words? Would He, would God, not make them good?
That failure is the easy thing to notice — and the wrong place to stop:
In love they had followed the Lord in His life of service, they clung to Him in death on the cross, they watch as His body is laid in the grave. It is easy to dwell on their lack of intelligence, while falling far behind them in their devoted love.
A body and a burial held their whole attention. One writer finds us in them, and points to where God had arranged the anointing instead:
We are often just as ignorant as those poor affectionate women who went with their spices and ointment to the tomb. In chapter 23:55-56 we see them occupied with death. It was death in no ordinary form, but it was still death: "They saw the tomb and how His body was laid." Then they return and prepare spices and ointments. But the Sabbath rest keeps them from doing what would have been wholly out of place. God had arranged the anointing of the Lord for His burial. It was not to take place at the tomb, but in the house at Bethany. There the presence of Lazarus proved the power of resurrection.
- Followed. These women had travelled with Jesus from Galilee and served Him along the way. Luke leaves them unnamed. Matthew lets us place Mary Magdalene among them.
- Watched. Two men buried Him and two women looked on — the only mourners Scripture allows us to name at the funeral of the Son of God.
- Saw. They noted the tomb and the exact position of the body. Luke's word for the tomb belongs to a body going into it; Scripture never uses Hades that way.
- Loved. Their devotion outran their understanding. It was real affection lingering at a grave, with no thought yet of the life about to break out of it.
- Learned. Their spices at the tomb would have been out of place. God had already arranged the anointing at Bethany, where Lazarus proved the power of resurrection.
And having returned they prepared aromatic spices and ointments, and remained quiet on the sabbath, according to the commandment.
The women who had come with Jesus from Galilee saw where His body was laid. They went home and prepared spices and ointments — and then stopped for a whole day. What they did with that day says as much about them as their love did.
The verse fixes the end of a Friday and the start of the seventh day. One writer notes that the wording rules out the theory of multiple Sabbaths that week:
Verse 54 is clear that this day was Friday, called "the preparation," and the Sabbath drew near. Some have thought that there was more than one Sabbath that week, and that the crucifixion took place on Wednesday or Thursday. But the Greek article settles it: "the Sabbath." In verse 56 the women rested only "the Sabbath day," not "days." They came to watch His burial. Then they returned home to prepare spices and ointments, hoping to anoint His body after the Sabbath — the day on which they rested.
One writer finds three things about these women in this one verse:
Three things are clearly shown here. First, their affection for Christ. Second, that they expected no resurrection. Third, their devotion to God, seen in their submission to the word of God. They longed to pour out the signs of their deep love on the dead body of their Lord. But the Sabbath came at once. So these holy women — and Mary Magdalene stood out among them — waited quietly and rested in obedience to the commandment, before they carried out their plan to anoint the body of our blessed Lord.
The spices were prepared for a dead body. One writer names what was missing in that love:
It was affection, but with little intelligence. Their love lingered over the scene of His death and burial. For the moment they did not grasp at all the life that would soon be displayed in glory. Had they not heard His words? Would He, would God, not make them good?
Another writer weighs that kind of love against faith:
Love did an acceptable service afterwards. It came to bury the dead. It brought its spices to the tomb. It wept with those who wept. It died with Jesus. "Let us also go," it said, "that we may die with him." But this was not faith. Faith looked beyond the grave; love looked into it.
The last thing Luke records before the resurrection is obedience to the law. One writer sees the Lord Himself honouring that law, even in death:
Luke tells us more about the women who had come with Him from Galilee. They saw the tomb and how His body was laid. Then they went back to prepare spices and ointments, and they rested on the Sabbath according to the commandment. So, even in His death, our blessed Lord was honouring the law. He had indeed reached the Sabbath of God, and in picture His people had reached it too. It was fitting, then, that they rested on the holy day.
While His followers kept the day of rest, the Lord of that day was in the grave. One writer draws out what this silence teaches:
Christ certainly had no Sabbath while He was on this earth. True, He finished His work — He finished it gloriously. But where did He spend the Sabbath day? In the tomb! Yes, the Lord Christ — God revealed in human flesh, the Lord of the Sabbath, the Maker and Sustainer of heaven and earth — spent the seventh day in the dark and silent tomb. Has this no voice for us? Does it teach us nothing? Could the Son of God lie in the grave on the seventh day, if that day were to be spent in rest and peace, in the full sense that nothing was left to be done? Impossible! We need no further proof that a Sabbath cannot be kept than what we find at the grave of Jesus.
Luke marks the Sabbath here, and the next verse moves to the first day of the week. One writer keeps the two days apart:
They obeyed the law. They had prepared spices "so that they might go and anoint him" on the Friday evening, and then rested on the Saturday. That was the Sabbath. The Lord's Day has nothing at all to do with the Sabbath. The Sabbath is the last day of the week. There is no such thing as the Christian Sabbath, though people often speak that way. There is the Lord's Day. The first of the week is the day that belongs to the Lord.
- Love — Their affection was real. They watched the burial, then went home and prepared spices for the body of their Lord.
- Limit — That same love expected no resurrection. It looked into the grave; faith looks beyond it.
- Obedience — What they failed to understand, they made up for in obedience. They stopped and rested because the commandment said so.
- Silence — While they rested, the Lord of the Sabbath lay in the dark tomb. That grave is proof enough that man had no Sabbath rest to keep.
- Sunrise — The waiting ends at the first day of the week. That day belongs to the Lord, and it is not the Sabbath.